The long twilight began to close, and still Camperdown lingered. The mother had been with him some time in the sick-room. Stargarde sat quietly consoling the farmer as she had consoled his wife.
“My son, my son, my only son,” were all the words the old man could utter till Dr. Camperdown stood quietly beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. White, your son is going to get well, with God’s blessing.”
The old man started up, wrung his hand, ejaculated, “God bless you, sir!” and hurried from the room.
“They won’t leave him,” said Camperdown looking away from Stargarde who was wiping sympathetic tears from her eyes. “Mrs. White says for us to take some tea before we go. They’ll be offended if we don’t.”
He lifted the enormous brown teapot to a stand on the table, and while waiting for Stargarde to sit down, walked noiselessly about the room scanning with curious eye the high cupboards, the ancient latches on the doors, the brass candlesticks on the mantel shelf, and the long oven set in the wall and arched over with brickwork.
Finally he came to a standstill at the table, and surveyed the various dishes that the farmer’s wife in her gratitude had offered to them.
“Potted head, that she has made herself,” he said; “rolls also. Her own brown bread, such as bakers do not dream of; beans grown by themselves; pork from a porker off the farm; preserve of berries from her own little garden; eggs from her biddies; cream from her cows; doughnuts frizzled in the lard of her own swine. Come, Stargarde, will you say grace and pour the tea?”
“Yes, Brian,” taking the chair that he placed for her, and examining approvingly and with feminine minuteness of observation the spotless cleanliness of the little table.
“You have picked up wonderfully,” said Camperdown a few minutes later, moving the lamp in order that he might have a better view of her features. “I was worried about you two weeks ago.”
“I am in excellent health now, thanks to your doses,” said Stargarde with a laughing grimace that revealed to him the two rows of teeth that Zilla in her vile slang called “white nuns.”