Janet made no answer to this, and supper progressed with the addition of very few remarks. When it was over he took to a book from the Parish Lending Library, and read diligently. Janet cleared the table, mindful still of Mrs. Simmons' exhortations, and presently the elder children were sent to bed. Jem was at length alone with his wife. He put down his book and looked at her. "Janet, you're just in time," he said, and his voice was a little husky. "You're just in time, but it's only just. It was getting to be beyond bearing, and I was angry. I don't say I was in the right, but I do say things were getting to be beyond bearing. I haven't been to the public this evening, but I made up my mind I'd go to-morrow, and take to it every evening after, regular,—and I made up my mind I'd take a drop too much and pay you out. And I'd have done it too!" Janet came nearer, a frightened look on her face. "You won't go, Jem,—you won't do that," she faltered. "Promise me you won't." "No, I won't," Jem answered, in a clear firm voice. "I won't, Janet,—and, God helping me, I'll never even mean to do it again. But I was near it to-day. I suppose there's a sort of evil spirit gets hold on a man once in a while. If I'd begun, there's no knowing where I'd have stopped." "O Jem, I'll never forget," Janet said earnestly. CHAPTER VI. TWO NURSES. BETSY SIMMONS did not return home on leaving the Humphreys' cottage. This was the weekly half-holiday in Banks, and all shops were closed early, including her own. So, having plenty of time at her disposal, she passed along the other side of the road, and stopped before the front door of "Old Meadow." Bell-pulling was useless there. Mrs. Simmons tried her hand at it, but, as she expected, the crazy wire yielded feebly, and brought no response. After a minute's waiting, she pushed open the door and entered. Nobody was visible. Mrs. Simmons deposited her umbrella in a corner, gave her boots a good rubbing on the mat,—for the heavy rain of the storm had left mud,—and peered cautiously into the parlour. Isaac Meads sat there alone, his head dropping forward on his chest in sleepy style, and his lower jaw falling with its wonted unhappiness of expression. Mrs. Simmons drew back, not feeling as if she cared to have speech with the old man. But a second impulse came over her, and she stepped forward. He looked so lonely and miserable; might he not be in need of a kind word? "Good evening to you, Mr. Meads," she said, in her full pleasant tones. "I've come to ask how your little girl is." Mrs. Simmons herself was so large a person that she always thought of Daisy as a "little girl," and in a time of illness such thoughts naturally find expression in words. Isaac Meads woke up very slowly out of his fit of drowsiness, and stared blankly at his visitor.