Mrs. Murray knew she was treading on delicate ground. The Highland pride is quick to take offense.
“Sick people, you see,” she proceeded carefully, “need very frequent changes—sheets and clothing, you understand.”
“Aye,” said Kirsty, suspiciously.
“I am sure you have plenty of beautiful sheets, and we will change these when he wakes from his sleep.”
“Indeed, they are very clean, for there is no one but myself has slept in them since he went away last fall to the shanties.”
Mrs. Murray felt the delicacy of the position to be sensibly increased.
“Indeed, that is right, Kirsty; one can never tell just what sort of people are traveling about nowadays.”
“Indeed, and it's true,” said Kirsty, heartily, “but I never let them in here. I just keep them to the bunk.”
“But,” pursued Mrs. Murray, returning to the subject in hand, “it is very important that for sick people the sheets should be thoroughly aired and warmed. Why, in the hospital in Montreal they take the very greatest care to air and change the sheets every day. You see so much poison comes through the pores of the skin.”
“Do you hear that now?” said Kirsty, amazed. “Indeed, I would be often hearing that those French people are just full of poison and such, and indeed, it is no wonder, for the food they put inside of them.”