And Mrs. Nettley turned her cakes in a great hurry, as her brother pushed open the door and let the intruder in.
He took off his hat as he came, shewing a head that had seen some sixty winters, thinly dressed with yellow hair but not at all grey. The face was strong and Yankee-marked with shrewdness and reserve. His hat was wet and his shoulders, which had no protection of an overcoat.
"Do you wish to see Mr. Landholm in his room?" said Mr.
Inchbald. "He's just coming down to breakfast."
"That'll do as well," said the stranger nodding. "And stop — you may give him this — maybe he'd as lieve have it up there."
Mr. Inchbald looked at the letter handed him, the outside of which at least told no tales; but his sister with a woman's quick instinct had already asked,
"Is anything the matter?"
"Matter?" — said the stranger, — "well, yes. — He's wanted to hum."
Both brother and sister stood now forgetting everything, both saying in a breath,
"Wanted, what for?"
"Well — there's sickness —"