“Set him free,” said she, in a hard voice.
Lot heaved a great sigh, and rolled his eyes feebly about towards the door.
“Find—Margaret Bean,” he began; and with that Margaret Bean, who had kept the door ajar, slid out softly, “and tell her—to send her husband to—Parson Fair, and—Jonas Hapgood, and she—must go the other way for—the doctor. Tell them to come at once.”
With that Lot fell to coughing again, but Madelon went out quickly, and found Margaret Bean in the kitchen mixing gruel.
“Mr. Gordon wishes your husband to go at once for Parson Fair and Jonas Hapgood, and you for the doctor,” said she.
“Is he took worse?” asked Margaret Bean, innocently, with a quick sniff of apprehension.
“No, he is no worse, but he wishes to see them. He said to go at once.”
Margaret Bean cast an injured eye at the window, all blurred with the clinging shreds of the storm. “I don't see how I can get out in this awful storm nohow,” she said. “I've got rheumatism now. Why can't he go to see 'em all, I'd like to know?”
“The doctor lives a quarter of a mile the other way. It will save time.”
Margaret Bean looked at the gruel. “I've got to make this gruel for him.”