“Ay, ay!” she went on, “it’s easier te preach than te practice, as t’ man said when he fell off a haystack efther another man shooted tiv him te ho’d fast.”
Mrs. Saumarez took a seat. Thus far, matters had gone well. But why did Martin avoid her?
“Martin, my little friend,” she said, “why did you not come in and see me yesterday when you called at The Elms?”
“Miss Walker did not wish it,” was the candid answer. “I suppose she thought I might be in the way when you were so ill.”
“There nivver was sike a bairn,” protested Martha Bolland. “He’s close as wax sometimes. Not a wud did he say, whether ye were ill or well, Mrs. Saumarez.”
The lady’s glance rested more graciously on the boy. She noticed his bandaged arms and hands.
“What is the matter?” she asked. “Have you been scalding yourself?”
Martin reddened. It was Angèle who answered quickly:
“You were too indisposed last night to hear the story, chère maman. It was all over the village. Il y a tout le monde qui sait. Martin saved Elsie Herbert from a wildcat. It almost tore him into little pieces.”
And so the conversation glided safely away from the delicate topic of Mrs. Saumarez’s sudden ailment. She praised Martin’s bravery in her polished way. She expressed proper horror when the wildcat’s skin was brought in for her edification, and became so lively, so animated, that she actually asked Mrs. Bolland for some tea, notwithstanding Mrs. Summersgill’s earnest warnings.