David was between fifteen and sixteen years of age, a fine well-grown lad. He looked attentively at Alison, opened his lips as if to say something, caught a warning glance from her eyes, and was instantly silent. Alison forced herself to eat some of the nourishing pie, then she looked full at Grannie.
"By the way, Grannie," she said, "you were to see the doctor at the London Hospital this morning, were you not?"
"Yes, child; what about it? I'll have a piece of bread, David, if you will cut it for me."
David did so. Alison detected some concealment in Grannie's voice, and pursued her inquiries.
"What did he say?" she asked.
"Oh, what didn't he say. Nothing special—the old kind of story. I never thought much of plaguing a doctor for a common sort of thing like this. I'm to rub the hand with liniment three times a day. There's the bottle on that shelf. I 'spect I'll be all right in a week or a fortnight. Now, children, hurry up with your dinner; you'll have to be off to school in less than ten minutes, so there's no time to lose."
The children began to eat quickly. Alison and David again exchanged glances. Harry suddenly pushed back his chair.
"You say your grace before you go," said Grannie, fixing him with her bright blue eyes.
He blushed a little, muttered a word or two, and then left the room.
"Harry is a good lad," said the old lady when he had gone, "but he is getting a bit uppish. He's a masterful sort. He aint like you, Dave."