Wilson asked Barton if he thought he should catch it, and was
laughed at for his idea.
The two men, rough, tender nurses as they were, lighted the fire,
which smoked and puffed into the room as if it did not know the way
up the damp, unused chimney. The very smoke seemed purifying and
healthy in the thick clammy air. The children clamoured again for
bread; but this time Barton took a piece first to the poor,
helpless, hopeless woman, who still sat by the side of her husband,
listening to his anxious miserable mutterings. She took the bread,
when it was put into her hand, and broke a bit, but could not eat.
She was past hunger. She fell down on the floor with a heavy
unresisting bang. The men looked puzzled. "She's wellnigh
clemmed," said Barton. "Folk do say one mustn't give clemmed people
much to eat; but, bless us, she'll eat nought."
"I'll tell yo what I'll do," said Wilson. "I'll take these two big
lads, as does nought but fight, home to my missis for tonight, and
I'll get a jug o' tea. Them women always does best with tea, and
such-like slop.
Pages:
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136