Tom drank thirstily. She pumped water on
his hands, and bathed his burning face in it. The cold
water and the fresh air began to clear his brain.
"What time is it?" he asked her.
"Nearly morning," she said. "About half-past three, I
think," and Tom knew even in the darkness that she had
lost more teeth. It was Mrs. Skinner.
"Tom," she said, "did you see Skinner in there? I came
down to get him--I want him--the child is dead an hour
ago." She spoke hurriedly.
Tom remembered now. Yes, he had seen Skinner, but not
lately; it was a long, long time ago.
"Now Tom, go home," she said kindly. "This is bad work
for you, my dear boy. Stop it now, dear Tom, while you
can. It will kill you, body and soul."
A thought struggled in Tom's dull brain. There was
something he wanted to say to her which must be said;
but she was gone.
He drank again from the cup that hung beside the pump.
Where did he get this burning thirst, and his head, how
it pounded! She had told him to go home. Well, why wasn't
he at home? What was he doing here?
Slowly his memory came back--he had come for the doctor;
and the doctor was to be back in an hour, and now it was
nearly morning, didn't she say?
He tried to run, but his knees failed him--what about
Arthur? He grew chill at the thought--he might be dead
by this time.
He reached the doctor's office some way. His head still
throbbed and his feet were heavy as lead; but his mind
was clear.
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