"Sure you aren't sick?" Garth asked, greatly alarmed. That mother should cry was sufficiently amazing to mean something very bad indeed.
"No, not a bit. I was only tired, and I was afraid you were hurt. I'm a silly old mother, that's all." She was helping him into dry clothes, handling his stiff arm very gently.
"I've been making you tired—cross beast I am!" said Garth penitently. "I won't be horrid any more, Mother!" He hugged her again violently.
"Poor old man; you've had a horrid week," she said. "Never mind; Daddy says he thinks it is going to clear up, and you may be able to get out to-morrow. Listen, Garth!" She raised her head as the sound of voices came through the thin boarding of the wall. "Daddy has a visitor. How exciting!"
"Who d'you think it is?" Garth asked eagerly. "Why, we haven't had a sign of a visitor since we've been here!"
"It sounds like your friend's voice," said Aileen, wrestling with his buttons.
"That nice man what pulled my arm straight?" Garth said. "I'd like to see him. He did hurt, but he was jolly quick. I was getting sick of that old arm. He's a—a very decent sort of chap, isn't he, Mother?"
"Very decent, I think," she said. "At least, I never was so glad of any one in my life. Let's go and see him, sonnie."
Tom rose as they entered the sitting-room.
"Here's Mr. O'Connor, Aileen."