‘Now, don’t take on so, like a good soul; he ain’t worse since morning. No, I knew it. And don’t you go for to think, Mr. Oliver, it’s any ill feeling to you that’s sticking in the Missuss’s throat. Nothing of the kind, sir. Why, that was all out of head with poor Jack himself—who was never a chap to bear malice, months ago. He said to me only the other day when this illness was coming on him; “I can’t tell what ails me, father; it ain’t my head, or my back, or my legs in petickler—only I feel seedy all over. I ain’t fit for the shop, and I’m still less fit for a field-day”—you see the autumn manoeuvres was coming on—“if it had been a year or two back, I might have gone out to Friarton Mill and had a quiet afternoon with Constable, and tried what that would have done for me. Yes,” he said, “I remember there was bad blood between us; but I’m not so cock sure as I have been, that I had the best of it. Anyhow, Constable was the right sort to go to, at a pinch. You could look to be borne with, and set on your feet again when you felt you had not a leg left to stand on, as it is my bad luck to do to-day.”’ ‘That was very good of Jack,’ said Oliver warmly. ‘Then you’ll let me sit up with him tonight, since he’ll not mind; perhaps he’ll rather like it. I don’t mean to boast of my qualifications as a nurse; but I think you and Mrs. Dadd may trust me to see to the doctor’s orders.’ ‘I should think so, Mr. Oliver,’ said Dadd with emphasis. ‘You are kind, and we are much indebted to you, as we’ll tell you better some day, please God. Others has offered, but none so hearty, or whom we could put such faith in,’ old Dadd astonished Oliver by saying. ‘And as to Jack’s minding or liking, bless you! he don’t know his own mother from a stranger, and hasn’t these three days back.’ ‘It’s that as has made me useless, Mr. Oliver,’ said Mrs. Dadd, sitting up and apologising feebly; ‘so that I haven’t even had the grace to thank you for your offer.’ ‘Never mind thanks,’ said Oliver. ‘Did my father go out of his way to thank you when you stayed at Friarton Mill and brought his little girl through her fever?’ ‘Ah, that was different; that was all in a woman’s way for a motherless little thing, and I ran no risk, having had the scarlet fever myself when I was a child. I wish I had been with her at the last, poor soul! When her trouble came upon her, in a strange place, and none as she knew, save men to look after her, I reckon she would have cared then to see the face of an old acquaintance, as was a woman like herself and knew her needs. But the Lord will protect you, Mr. Oliver, as He may have raised you up, and sent you home, at this time, to save my dear Jack. May be it is the greatest mark of respect I could show you or any man, after all, to think of leaving my own lad in your care.’ Oliver did not know about having been raised up and sent home to save Jack Dadd, but he said ‘Surely,’ with fervour to Mrs. Dadd’s passionate amendment on her formal thanks.