"
Sometimes Nestorius clambered on to the bed, when the mosquito-
curtains were up, and rested from his labours--a small curled-up
form, looking very comfortable. And then, when his mother's soft
voice called him, he was wont to gather up his belongings and take
his departure. On the threshold he always paused, finger in mouth,
to utter a valedictory "Bad case" before making his way downstairs
with a shadowy, mystic smile.
Kind neighbours called, and well-meaning but mistaken dissenting
missionaries left religious works of a morbid nature, eminently
suitable to the sick-bed; but Joseph, Marie, and Nestorius were the
only three who had free access to the quiet room.
And all the while the rain fell--night and day, morning, noon, and
evening--as if the flood-gates had been left open by mistake.
"Sloobrious, no doubt," said Joseph, "but blamed depressing."
And he shook his head at the lowering sky with a tolerant smile,
which was his way of taking Providence to task.
"Do y' know what I would like, missis?" he asked briskly of Marie
one evening.
"No."
"Well, I'd like to clap my eyes on Miss Gordon, just a stepping in
at that open door--that's what we want. That sawbones feller is
right when he says the progress will be slow. Slow! Slow ain't
quite the word.
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