"We won't take all your clothes off, because your pyjamas, are hiding in one of the boxes," she told him. "But you won't mind that, to-night."
Garth was past minding anything. His heavy head nodded forward as she picked him up, kneeling on the dirty floor while she unlaced his boots; then she laid him gently back on the uncovered pillow. He was asleep almost as his head touched it. Very gently, she drew the rugs over him, and turned from him, shading the candle with her hand.
Tom Macleod, entering hurriedly, looked from the white face on the pillow to that of his wife, almost as white.
"My poor little girl!" he said.
A lump rose in Aileen's throat. She choked it back with decision.
"If you begin to pity me I might cry, and there doesn't seem time for any diversion like that," she said, smiling bravely. "We're all right. I've put Garth to bed—-the poor man was so tired I wouldn't wait for sheets. But I would like some milk for him, Tom. Do you know if there is any?"
"There should be any amount—I think it's kept in the store-room," he said.
"And a saucepan?"
"Smith says he put the new pots and pans in the store-room, too—and the bread and meat and things we ordered."
"Then we'll all have hot milk and bread before we start unpacking," said his wife with decision. "Would you get the lamp, Tom? I'm so tired of this illumination!" She put down the greasy bottle and looked at the candle-end with disfavour. "I'll leave it, in case Garth wakes."