They did not answer.
“Father! Mama! Did you say I was t’ be cured?”
“Hush, dear!” said the mother.
“I can’t hush. I wants t’ know. Father, tell me. Is I t’ be cured?”
“Jim,” said the mother to Jim Grimm, “tell un.”
“You is!” Jim shouted, catching Jimmie in his arms, and rocking him like a baby. “You 43 is t’ be cured. Debt or no debt, lad, I’ll see you cured!”
The matter of credit was easily managed. The old storekeeper at Shelter Harbour did not hesitate. Credit? Of course, he would give Jim Grimm that. “Jim,” said he, “I’ve knowed you for a long time, an’ I knows you t’ be a good man. I’ll fit you out for the summer an’ the winter, if you wants me to, an’ you can take your own time about payin’ the bill.” And so Jim Grimm withdrew twelve dollars from the credit of his account.
They began to keep watch on the ice––to wish for a westerly gale, that the white waste might be broken and dispersed.
“Father,” said Jimmie, one night, when the man was putting him to bed, “how long will it be afore that there Kurepain comes?”