“I’ll go presently,” he answered. “What’s the number?”
Our house had no number, and I could not manage to explain its position clearly enough for his comprehension.
“Then I’ll stay, sir, and show you the way,” I said.
“Wait a bit, and I’ll be ready,” he replied.
He kept me waiting, however, a cruel long time, it seemed to me. At last he appeared with his silver-mounted cane in hand, and bade me go on.
“Stop! Stop, boy. I can’t move at that rate,” he cried out, before we had got far. He was a short stout man, with a bald head and grey hair. I had to restrain my eagerness, and walked slower till we reached our house. Nancy was looking out at the door for me, wondering I had not returned.
“How is mother?” I asked.
“Very bad, Peter; very bad indeed, I’m afeard,” she answered, almost ready to cry. Then seeing Mr Jones stop with me, she continued, “Come in, doctor, come in. You’ll try and cure missus, won’t you?”
“I’ll certainly do my best when I know what is the matter with her,” answered Mr Jones, as he followed Nancy into the house.
Mary was with mother. I stole in after the doctor, anxious to hear what he would say about her. He made no remark in her presence, however, but when he came out of the room he observed in a low voice to Nancy, “You must keep her quiet. Let there be nothing done to agitate her, tell her husband when he comes in. I’ll send some medicine, and pay her another visit in the afternoon.”