"And I found out that night from the children how good he was—how helpful and strong. He had to be out before break of day on the hills after the sheep. Often, with a game-bag over his shoulder, he would bring in all that there was for next day's dinner. Then when Betsy, the small maid, was busy with his mother, he would bath Algie and Madge, and put them to bed. For Mrs. Fergus, though a kind woman in her way, had been accustomed all her life to be waited on, and accepted everything from her son's hands without so much as 'Thank you.'
"So I did not say a word, but got up early next morning and went downstairs. And what do you think I found that blessed Harry doing—blacking my boots!"
There was again a sound like kissing and quiet crying, though I cannot for the life of me tell why there should have been. Perhaps the women who read this will know. And then the Hempie's voice began again, striving after its kind to be master of itself.
"So, of course, what could I do when his father died? He and I were with him night and day. For Betty Hearseman being blind could not handle him at all, and Harry's mother was of no use. Indeed, we did not say anything to alarm her till the very last morning. No, I cannot tell even you, Nance what it was like. But we came through it together. That is all."
Nance had not gone back to her sewing. So I could not make out what was her next question. It was spoken too near the Hempie's ear. But I heard the answer plainly enough.
"A month next Wednesday was what we thought of. It ought to be soon, for the children's sake, poor little things."
"Oh, yes," echoed Nance, meaningly, "for the children's sake, of course."
The Hempie ignored the tone of this remark.
"Harry is having the house done up. The old part is to be made into a kitchen. Old John and Betty Hearseman are to have a cottage down the glen."
"And you are to be all alone," cried Nance, clapping her hands, "with only the old lady to look after. That will be like playing at house."