r her nor any one. There's naught to
prevent you giving her some o' your two thousand a year if you've a
mind. But I see no reason for my house being turned upside down by her,
even if I _have_ got a bit of a cold."

"You're an unreasonable old woman," said Denry.

"Happen I am!" said she. "There can't be two wise ones in a family. But
I'm not going to give up this cottage, and as long as I am standing on
my feet I'm not going to pay any one for doing what I can do better
myself." A pause. "And so you needn't think it! You can't come round me
with a fur mantle." She retired to rest. On the following morning he was
very glum.

"You needn't be so glum," she said.

But she was rather pleased at his glumness. For in him glumness was a
sign that he recognised defeat.

II

The next episode between them was curiously brief. Denry had influenza.
He said that naturally he had caught hers.

He went to bed and stayed there. She nursed him all day, and grew angry
in a vain attempt to force him to eat. Towards night he tossed furiously
on the little bed in the little bedroom, complaining of fearful
headaches. She remained by his side most of the night. In the morning he
was easier. Neither of them mentioned the word "doctor." She spent the
day largely on the stairs. Once more towards night he grew worse, and
she remained most of the second night by his side.

In the sinister winter dawn Denry murmured in a feeble tone:

"Mother, you'd better send for him."

"Doctor?" she said. And secretly she thought that she _had_ better
send for the doctor, and that there must be after all some difference
between influenza and a cold.

"No," said Denry; "send for young Lawton."

"Young Lawton!" she exclaimed. "What do you want young Lawton to come
_here_ for?"

"I haven't made my will," Denry answered.

"Pooh!" she retorted.

Nevertheless she was the least bit in the world frightened. And she sent
for Dr Stirling, the aged Harrop's Scotch partner.

Dr Stirling, who was full-bodied and left little space for anybody else
in the tiny, shabby bedroom of the man with four thousand a year, gazed
at Mrs Machin, and he gazed also at Denry.

"Ye must go to bed this minute," said he.

"But he's _in_ bed," cried Mrs Machin.

"I mean yerself," said Dr Stirling.

She was very nearly at the end of her resources. And the proof was that
she had no strength left to fight Dr Stirling. She did go to bed. And
shortly afterwards Denry got