"I've spent some of the money--more'n two pounds o't. It do wherrit me
terribly; and I shall die o' the thought of that paper I signed with my
holy cross, as South died of his trouble."
"If you ask him to burn the paper he will, I'm sure, and think no
more of it."
"'Ch have done it once already, miss. But he laughed cruel like.
'Yours is such a fine brain, Grammer, 'er said, 'that science couldn't
afford to lose you. Besides, you've taken my money.'...Don't let your
father know of this, please, on no account whatever!"
"No, no. I will let you have the money to return to him."
Grammer rolled her head negatively upon the pillow. "Even if I should
be well enough to take it to him, he won't like it. Though why he
should so particular want to look into the works of a poor old woman's
head-piece like mine when there's so many other folks about, I don't
know. I know how he'll answer me: 'A lonely person like you, Grammer,'
er woll say. 'What difference is it to you what becomes of ye when the
breath's out of your body?' Oh, it do trouble me! If you only knew how
he do chevy me round the chimmer in my dreams, you'd pity me. How I
could do it I can't think! But 'ch was always so rackless!...If I only
had anybody to plead for me!"
"Mrs. Melbury would, I am sure."
"Ay; but he wouldn't hearken to she! It wants a younger face than hers
to work upon such as he."
Grace started with comprehension. "You don't think he would do it for
me?" she said.
"Oh, wouldn't he!"
"I couldn't go to him, Grammer, on any account. I don't know him at
all."
"Ah, if I were a young lady," said the artful Grammer, "and could save
a poor old woman's skellington from a heathen doctor instead of a
Christian grave, I would do it, and be glad to. But nobody will do
anything for a poor old familiar friend but push her out of the way."
You are very ungrateful, Grammer, to say that. But you are ill, I
know, and that's why you speak so. Now believe me, you are not going
to die yet. Remember you told me yourself that you meant to keep him
waiting many a year."
"Ay, one can joke when one is well, even in old age; but in sickness
one's gayety falters to grief; and that which seemed small looks large;
and the grim far-off seems near."