"Andrew Lashcairn's doon," said Jean, looking scared.

"Who helped him?" asked Marcella, lifting the lid of the teapot that
stood on the hearth. She poured into it some water from the singing
kettle, and after a minute poured a cup of weak tea, which she drank
thirstily.

"He wasna helpit--not with han's. The mistress was frettin', wonderin'
what she'd be tellin' him aboot the furniture i' th' book-room. An' he
juist cam' in, luikit roond, and laught. I lighted a fire i' there for
him, for it's cauld. But he went off doon the passage, gruppin' his
stick."

"Is he lying down? Oh dear, I wish I hadn't slept so long! It would have
been better for him if I'd been there with him."

"No, he isna to his bed. He's gone through the green baize door. An'
it's a' that dusty! I havena bin in tae clean sin' the day he tuik tae
his bed. Always the mistress has said I maun leav' it. An' noo the
master's gaun in."

"Never mind, Jean, he won't notice," said Marcella, feeling a little
incredulous that Jean should be caring about dust now. It seemed as much
out of place as her worrying about the mark the plaster had made on her
face. "I'm going to get him out. He'll be frozen in there."

"He cam' in tae me and said that the folks was tae have meat and drink!
Meat and drink! An' whaur's it tae come frae?" asked Jean in despair.

Marcella flushed a little then and said quickly: