“Oh, there’s no accounting for the likes and dislikes of children, my lady,” she replied easily. “I believe they can see further into a person’s character than we grown-ups can; it’s a sort of second sight, I think. Now, my Tom, he’s just the same. He took a dislike to the Arab boy who minds him when I’m up here, and no amount of coaxing would make him alter his mind. So all I could do was to send the boy away and get another; it wasn’t worth while making the lad ill on that account.”
“Certainly not,” was Patricia’s comment. “It is not the least use to try and force affection. How is your grandson, by the way? I have scarcely seen him since we came to Haifa.”
Nothing delighted Anne more than to discuss her boy.
“He’s doing fairly well, thank you, my lady,” she replied, with alacrity. “Of course, he found the heat trying at first, but he’s getting used to it now.”
“And is his brain more active than it was?”
“I’m afraid not, my lady; he’ll never be no better than a poor imbecile. Not that I’m complaining, though; there’s worse things than that.”
“You ought to let him sleep in the Cave of Elijah, Mrs. Whiteside,” advised Raie, suddenly appearing at the door. “Wouldn’t it make a sensation if he were to be cured!”
“Eh, miss!” The poor woman looked bewildered. “Is it a doctor’s treatment you mean?”
“No; the Cave of Elijah.” She smiled good-humouredly, not in the least realising the serious import of her words. “They say that all who are mentally diseased are cured by sleeping there over night. I suppose it’s after the style of Lourdes.”
“Oh! but it isn’t true, surely, miss?” Her form trembled like a leaf. “It can’t be true!”