"
"Afore Peter talks 'bout gettin' a wife," broke in Caleb, "he'd
better read 'bout Peter's wife's mother. She was sick wi' a fever,
I've heerd, an' so's maaster. Ef you don't believe, walk up an' see;
'cos 'tain't good for a sick man to ha' all this palaverin' outside
hes windey."
The Twins stared, whispered together, took off their boots, and
softly entered the house. At the door of the sick-room Caleb met
them.
"Brain fever," he whispered, "which es on'y catchin' for them as has
brains to catch et wi'."
The trio stood together at the foot of the bed on which Mr. Fogo
tossed and chattered. Peter and Paul looked from the sick man to
their hats, and back again in silence. At length the elder Twin
spoke--
"I' the matter o' behavin' rum, some folks does it wi' cause an'
others not so. But I reckons ef you allows as there's likely a
cause, you'm 'pon the safe side--'speshully wi' Mr. Fogo. Wherefore,
Caleb, what's the meanin' o' this here?"
"Tamsin!"
The answer came so pat from the sick man's lips that Peter fairly
jumped. Caleb looked up with finger on lip and a curious smile on
his weather-tanned face.
"Don't leave me! Look! There are devils around me--cold white
devils--devils with blank faces--no features, only flesh.
Look! Sunday, Monday, Tuesday--every day with a devil, every day in
the year--look, look!"
"Pore soul!" whispered Paul; "an' 'tes Leap Year, too, which makes
wan extry.
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