“We’ve come to relieve you, Mr. Moncrieff,” Jean said. “Father sent us out. We’re to stay until he comes, so you mustn’t wait, after you’ve had a cup of tea.”
“I won’t wait for that, then, if you don’t mind, Miss Jean,” Moncrieff said. “I’ll not be sorry to get a sleep, for I’ve been on the go for two nights now. My wife will have tea for me when I get home.” He yawned openly, looking at them with tired blue eyes, inflamed from the smoke. “Great kid you’ve got there,” he said, nodding towards Billy, busily gathering sticks a little way off. “I never saw anything quicker than he was last night. Well, I’ll be going.” He lifted his hat—they saw a long red burn across his hand as he did so—and, wheeling his pony, rode away.
“Run and tell Mr. Conlan to come for some tea, Billy,” Jean called presently. “The billy’s boiling.”
Tim Conlan was busy with the tree he had felled, piling the lighter pieces about the heavier, that all might burn quickly. He came in a few moments greeting them all cheerfully, with a special smile for Jo.
“You’re to bathe your eyes before you have tea, Mr. Conlan,” Mrs. Weston said. She produced a bottle of boracic lotion and an eye-bath, and showed him how to use it.
“Smarts like fury, but it makes ’em better, don’t it?” said the big man, with tears streaming down his cheeks, making curious patterns in the smoky dust that covered his face. “If you don’t mind, I’ll slip over to the river for a wash: I’ll feel more comfortable-like.”
“Have one cup of tea first, Mr. Conlan,” suggested Jo, handing him a brimming cup. “Then you can really have tea when you come back!”
The big man grinned, and obeyed her.
“That’s too big a temptation for a thirsty man to resist, Miss Weston. My word, it’s good!” He drained it at a draught, and then went off with great strides to the river: returning presently much freshened.
“That’s more respectable—though I don’t think my old woman would think I looked respectable, if she could see me. Fire-fighting isn’t clean and tidy work,” he said, laughing. Suddenly his eye fell on Jean, who was proffering him a plate of scones: and then wavered to Jo, who was handing him tea. “Holy Ann!” he ejaculated. “I say, excuse me, but which of you is which?”