"Because I won’t have her! Neither her nor any one. There ’s naught to prevent you giving her some o’ your two thousand a year, if you ’ve a mind. But I see no reason for my house being turned upside down by her, even if I have got a bit of a cold." "You ’re an unreasonable old woman," said Denry. "Happen I am!" said she. "There can’t be two wise ones in a family. But I ’m not going to give up this cottage, and as long as I am standing on my feet I ’m not going to pay any one for doing what I can do better myself." A pause. "And so you need n’t think it! You can’t come round me with a fur mantle." She retired to rest. On the following morning he was very glum. "Ye need n’t be so glum," she said. But she was rather pleased at his glumness. For in his glumness was a sign that he recognised defeat. II The next episode between them was curiously brief. Denry had influenza. He said that naturally he had caught hers. He went to bed and stayed there. She nursed him all day, and grew angry in a vain attempt to force him to eat. Towards night he tossed furiously on the little bed in the little bedroom, complaining of fearful headaches. She remained by his side most of the night. In the morning he was easier. Neither of them mentioned the word "doctor." She spent the day largely on the stairs. Once more towards night he grew worse, and she remained most of the second night by his side. In the sinister winter dawn Denry murmured in a feeble tone: "Mother, you ’d better send for him." "Doctor?" she said. And secretly she thought that she _had_ better send for the doctor, and that there must be after all some difference between influenza and a cold. "No," said Denry; "send for young Lawton." "Young Lawton!" she exclaimed. "What do you want young Lawton to come _here_ for?" "I have n’t made my will," Denry answered. "Pooh!" she retorted. Nevertheless she was the least bit in the world frightened. And she sent for Dr. Stirling, the aged Harrop’s Scotch partner. Dr. Stirling, who was full-bodied and left little space for anybody else in the tiny, shabby bedroom of the man with four thousand a year, gazed at Mrs. Machin, and he gazed also at Denry. "Ye must go to bed this minute," said he. "But he ’s _in_ bed," cried Mrs. Machin. "I mean yerself," said Dr. Stirling.