"I am to go there first. Where does she live?"
"Mrs. Lummis!" echoed Milly with surprise. "Is she ill?"
"So the doctor says. And it appears she has no one to look after her but a good-for-nothing son. Poor woman! I'm sorry for her, for I shan't be able to give her much of my time with a list like this!"
Milly would have liked to say something in defence of George Lummis, for she had, or fancied she had, seen something of another side of his character when he had jumped across the stream and stood beside her so meekly while she spoke to him about his wasting his time on the bridge. She had fancied there was something rather fine about him, he had looked so strong and honest and capable for the moment; but then a little later how different had been his appearance! The remembrance of that kept her quiet; she had nothing to say.
Old Jimmy woke up just in time to hear nurse's remark. "Yes," he said, "a good-fur-northin', idlin' young fule." And if Milly had not stopped him with a timely reminder that it was nearly half-past nine, he would have plunged into the history of all poor Geo's antecedents for several generations. As it was, nurse was not particularly interested, and backed up Milly's suggestion that it was high time all good people went to bed.
In the meantime, in the little house on the hill that lazy, idle good-for-nothing was making ready for the night.
He pulled down the little blind over the open window, and set a jug of milk and water with a glass by his mother's bedside, and smoothed the sheet over her hot and tossing limbs.
"You just sing out, mother, if you want anything," he said, speaking in a comfortable, low-toned voice that did not jar on her aching nerves. "Or if you can't sleep. I'll come and set by you. I'd like to do that now if you'd let me."
"No, no, Geo my boy, that I won't; I'm quite comfortable as far as that goes. If it wasn't for the heat, maybe I'd get some sleep myself. You go to bed now, and when you wake come in and see after me. I'll call you sure enough if I want you."
So Geo came away, and throwing himself on his bed was soon sound asleep.
In the house next door a girl was ill. Mrs. Lummis had been helping to nurse her. If only she could be left, her mother would come and see after her, she well knew; for the poor are always at their best in times of illness, and the way they help each other is a pattern to those above them. But the girl was very bad indeed, not likely to recover, and Mrs. Lummis could not look for help from the nearly worn-out mother. It was a comfort that Geo seemed to be so handy. She was lucky, she thought, to have such a son; but she felt anxious, knowing that her illness was likely to be a long one. She knew not of the likelihood of the nurse coming to her. Like everybody else in the village, she knew of her advent, but nobody had told her she had really come. If she had she would have passed a less miserable night, perhaps; for, of course, nothing was farther away from her than sleep.