"You will, indeed. And why wouldn't you? You're young yet!"
Uncle Matthew did not reply to this. He turned on his pillow and glanced towards the dressing-table.
"Are you looking for anything?" John asked.
"Is there a book there?"
"No," John said. "Do you want one?"
"Your ma read a wee bit to me in the night, after you went to bed. I thought mebbe you'd read a wee bit more to me. Willie Reilly, it was."
"I'll get it for you," John replied, going to the door. He called to his mother, and she told him that she had brought the book downstairs with her.
"Wait a minute and I'll fetch it," she said.
She returned in a moment or two, carrying the book in her hand, and mounted half-way up the staircase to meet him. She pointed to a place in the book. "I read up to there to him in the night," she said. John looked at his mother, as he took the book from her hands, and saw how tired she looked.
"Did you not get any sleep at all, ma?" he asked with concern.