Cris tossed his head in scorn. To make friendly visits to sick old men was not in his line. "I'm sure I should not trouble myself about old Canham if I were you, mother," cried he.
He ran on as he spoke, but had not gone many steps when he found his mother's arm gently laid on his.
"Cris, dear, oblige me by not saying anything of this at home. Your father has prejudices, you know; he thinks as you do; and perhaps would be angry with me for coming. But I like to visit those who are ill, to say a kind word to them; perhaps because I am so often ill myself."
"I sha'n't bother myself to say anything about it," was Cris's ungracious response. "I'm sure you are welcome to go, mother, if it affords you any pleasure. Fine fun it must be to sit with that rheumatic old Canham! But as to his being ill, he is not that—if you mean worse than usual: I have seen him about to-day."
Cris finally went off, and Mrs. Chattaway returned to the door, which was opened about an inch by Ann Canham. "Let me in, Ann! let me in!"
She pushed her way in; and Ann Canham shut and bolted the door. Ann's course was uncertain: she was not aware whether or not it was known to Mrs. Chattaway. That lady's first words enlightened her, spoken as they were in the lowest whisper.
"Is he better to-night? What does Mr. King say?"
Ann lifted her hands in trouble. "He's no better, Madam, but seems worse. Mr. King said it would be necessary that he should visit him once or twice a day: and how can he dare venture? It passed off very well his saying this afternoon that he just called in to see old father; but he couldn't make that excuse to Mr. Chattaway a second time."
"To Mr. Chattaway!" she quickly repeated. "Did Mr. Chattaway see Mr. King here?"
"Worse luck, he did, Madam. He came in with him."