“Hush, Peter, don’t speak loud,” she said in a low tone. “She’s been in a sad taking all night, but she’s quiet now, and we mustn’t waken her.”
On hearing this I crept about as silent as a mouse till Mary got up, and then we sat looking at each other without speaking a word, wondering what was going to happen, while Nancy lit the fire and got breakfast ready. At last we heard mother call to Nancy to come to her, not knowing that Mary and I were on foot.
“I must get up and go and look after my good man,” she cried out, in a voice strangely unlike her own. “Just help me, Nancy, will you? What can have come over me? I feel very curious.”
She tried to rise, but could not, and after making several attempts, sank back on her bed with a groan. Mary and I now ran into her room.
“What’s the matter, mother dear?” asked Mary, in a tone of alarm.
She gazed at us strangely, and groaned again.
“Missus is, I fear, taken very bad,” said Nancy. “I must run for a doctor, or she’ll be getting worse. I’m sure I don’t know what to do; I wish I did. Oh dear! Oh dear!”
“Let me go,” I said, eagerly. “I know where he lives and you stay and take care of mother. I can run faster than you can in and out among the people in the streets.”
Nancy agreed, and I set off.