“Is that Barry?” said she faintly.
“Ay, mother, it’s Barry,” said I, going to the bed and bending over her.
“Bring the light, and let me look at you,” she said.
I obeyed. She scrutinised my face eagerly, and then turned her head wearily on the pillow.
“Barry,” said she presently.
“Well?” said I, as I took the hot worn hand in mine.
She lay silent a long while, so that I thought she had fallen asleep, then she said,—
“Where is father?”
“Away with the boats.”
“And Tim?”