.

I felt cold all over then and sick in the stomach--but CLEAR-HEADED in
a way: strange, wasn't it? I don't know why I didn't get down and rush
into the kitchen to get a bath ready. I only felt as if the worst had
come, and I wished it were over and gone. I even thought of Mary and the
funeral.

Then a woman ran out of the house--a big, hard-looking woman. She had
on a wrapper of some sort, and her feet were bare. She laid her hand on
Jim, looked at his face, and then snatched him from me and ran into the
kitchen--and me down and after her. As great good luck would have it,
they had some dirty clothes on to boil in a kerosene tin--dish-cloths or
something.

Brighten's sister-in-law dragged a tub out from under the table,
wrenched the bucket off the hook, and dumped in the water, dish-cloths
and all, snatched a can of cold water from a corner, dashed that in,
and felt the water with her hand--holding Jim up to her hip all the
time--and I won't say how he looked. She stood him in the tub and
started dashing water over him, tearing off his clothes between the
splashes.

'Here, that tin of mustard--there on the shelf!' she shouted to me.

She knocked the lid off the tin on the edge of the tub, and went on
splashing and spanking Jim.

It seemed an eternity. And I? Why, I never thought clearer in my life. I
felt cold-blooded--I felt as if I'd like an excuse to go outside till
it was all over. I thought of Mary and the funeral--and wished that that
was past. All this in a flash, as it were. I felt that it would be a
great relief, and only wished the funeral was months past. I felt--well,
altogether selfish. I only thought for myself.

Brighten's sister-in-law splashed and spanked him hard--hard enough to
break his back I thought, and--after about half an hour it seemed--the
end came: Jim's limbs relaxed, he slipped down into the tub, and the
pupils of his eyes came down. They seemed dull and expressionless, like
the eyes of a new baby, but he was back for the world again.

I dropped on the stool by the table.

'It's all right,' she said. 'It's all over now. I wasn't going to let
him die.' I was only thinking, 'Well it's over now, but it will come on
again. I wish it was over for good. I'm tired of it.'

She called to her sister, Mrs Brighten, a washed-out, helpless little
fool of a woman, who'd been running in and out and whimpering all the
time--

'Here, Jessie! bring the new white blanket off my bed. And you,