“Lawk a mussy!” exclaimed one of the women; “what would us ever a’ done wi’out you, Kitty. The poor creetur is that flummaged and mazed, her don’t seem right in her head, and us couldn’t do nothing with she.”
Mrs. Redmore caught Kate’s hand, and kissed it.
“We’d all a’ died here, but for you,” she said.
“Indeed,” answered Kate, hastily snatching her hand away, “it is my father who has come to your assistance not I. He lends you the house.”
“But you axed him for it. Oh, if Roger could do anything for you!”
“I assure you my father is the one to be thanked, if anyone is.”
“Well, if Roger could do aught for he, it would be the same as to you.”
“Come, let us be on the move.”
A little procession formed—women carrying the children, or crocks, a couple of men with wheelbarrows, removing some of the heavier goods. Then up came Jan Pooke, and at once offered his assistance, and worked as hard as any.
As soon as the poor woman was settled into her new quarters, Jan sidled up to Kate, and, seizing her hand and breathing heavily, said, “Kitty, I want to say something to you.”