“I’ve just been to your house,” she remarked, as she came up to him.
Poor Frisby murmured something about wishing he had known, and fearing she had found things a bit upset.
“Now listen to me, James,” said the old lady. “I’ve known you too long to let you go downhill so fast without trying to help you. I’ve been turning over a plan in my mind, which may possibly make that wife of yours think a little more seriously of her duties.”
James got red, but listened in silence while Mrs Spencer began to talk in a low rapid voice. He looked more and more astonished as she proceeded, and finally burst out laughing.
“’Twould be a good notion,” he said, “a very good notion, but—”
“Try it for a week,” said Mrs Spencer. “That’s all I ask, try it for a week; I’ll undertake that you shan’t be the loser, and of course you must not say a word to your wife about having met me.”
* * *
“’Tis past six, Jim,” said Mrs Frisby on the following morning, as she stood by the bed, after having reluctantly clothed herself. “Didn’t ye hear church-clock go?”
“I heard it,” said Jim drowsily. “I’m not feelin’ so very well, this mornin’, my dear; I don’t think I can get up.”
Mrs Frisby, in real alarm, questioned him as to the nature of his malady. Did his head ache—was his back bad—was he feeling his heart any ways queer?