"Won't you come yourself, mother?" I asked.
"I'll wait a bit longer," she answered. "Go, Peter, go; do as I bid
you."
"You'd better go home with Peter, missus," said old Tom. "You'll be
getting the rheumatics, I'm afraid. I'll stay and look out for your
good man."
I had never seen mother look as she did then, when she turned her face
for a moment to reply to the old man. She was as pale as death; her
voice sounded hoarse and hollow.
"I can't go just yet, Tom," she said.
I did not hear more, as, according to her bidding, I set off to run
home. I found Mary and Nancy wondering what had kept mother so long.
"Can anything have happened to father?" exclaimed Mary, when I told her
that mother was waiting for him.
"He has been a long time coming back from Spithead, and it's blowing
fearfully hard," I answered.
I saw Nancy clasp her hands and look upwards with an expression of alarm
on her countenance which frightened me. Her father and brother had been
lost some years before, crossing in a wherry from Ryde, and her widowed
mother had found it a hard matter to keep herself and her children out
of the workhouse. She said nothing, however, to Mary and me, but I
heard her sighing and whispering to herself, "What will poor missus do?
What will poor missus do?" She gave Mary and me our suppers, and then
persuaded us to go to bed. I was glad to do so to get off my wet
clothes, which she hung up to dry, but I could not go to sleep for
thinking what had happened to father.
At length mother came in alone. She sat down on a chair without
speaking, and her hands dropped by her side. I could watch her as I
looked out from the small closet in which my bunk was placed. Even
since I had left her her countenance had become fearfully pale and
haggard. She shivered all over several times, but did not move from her
seat.
"Won't you get those wet duds of yours off, missus, and have some hot
tea and supper?" asked Nancy, who had been preparing it.
Mother made no reply.
"Don't take on so, missus," said Nancy, coming up to her and putting her
hand affectionately on her shoulder.
"Bless me, you're as wet as muck. I've put Peter and Mary to bed, and
you must just go too, or you'll be having the rheumatics and I don't
know what. Do go, missus, now do go."
In vain Nancy pleaded, and was still endeavouring to persuade mother to
take off her wet garments, when I at last fell asleep. When I awoke in
the morning I saw Nancy alone bustling about the room. I soon jumped
into my clothes. My first question was for father.
"He's not yet come back, Peter," she answered. "But maybe he will
before long, for the wind has fallen, and if he put into Ryde he'd have
waited till now to come across."
"Where's mother?" I next asked, not seeing her.
"Hush, Peter, don't speak loud," she said in a low tone. "She's been in
a sad taking all night, but she's quiet now, and we mustn't waken her."
On hearing this I crept about as silent as a mouse till Mary got up, and
then we sat looking at each other without speaking a word, wondering
what was going to happen, while Nancy lit the fire and got breakfast
ready. At last we heard mother call to Nancy to come to her, not
knowing that Mary and I were on foot.
"I must get up and go and look after my good man," she cried out, in a
voice strangely unlike her own. "Just help me, Nancy, will you? What
can have come over me? I feel very curious."
She tried to rise, but could not, and after making several attempts,
sank back on her bed with a groan. Mary and I now ran into her room.
"What's the matter, mother dear?" asked Mary, in a tone of alarm.
She gazed at us strangely, and groaned again.
"Missus is, I fear, taken very bad," said Nancy. "I must run for a
doctor, or she'll be getting worse. I'm sure I don't know what to do; I
wish I did. Oh dear! Oh dear!"
"Let me go," I said, eagerly. "I know where he lives and you stay and
take care of mother. I can run faster than you can in and out among the
people in the streets."
Nancy agreed, and I set off.