"Whysh like me?"
"I dinna," answered Dannie wearily.
"Awful jagsh on," murmured Jimmy, sighed heavily, and was off. His
clothing was torn and dust-covered, his face was purple and
bloated, and his hair was dusty and disordered. He was a repulsive
sight. As Dannie straightened Jimmy's limbs he thought he heard a
step. He lifted his head and leaned forward to listen.
"Dannie Micnoun?" called the same even, cold voice he had heard at
breakfast. "Have you left me, too?"
Dannie sprang for a manger. He caught a great armload of hay, and
threw it over Jimmy. He gave one hurried toss to scatter it, for
Mary was in the barn. As he turned to interpose his body between
her and the manger, which partially screened Jimmy, his heart
sickened. He was too late. She hid seen. Frightened to the soul, he
stared at her. She came a step closer, and with her foot gave a
hand of Jimmy's that lay exposed a contemptuous shove.
"You didn't get him complately covered," she said. "How long have
you had him here?"
Dannie was frightened into speech. "Na a minute, Mary; he juist
came in when I heard ye. I was trying to spare ye."
"Him, you mane," she said, in that same strange voice. "I suppose you
give him money, and he has a bottle, and he's been here all night."
"Mary," said Dannie, "that's na true. I have furnished him money.
He'd mortgage the farm, or do something worse if I didna; but I
dinna ~where he has been all nicht, and in trying to cover him, my
only thought was to save ye pain.
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