I referred him to the cook. Finding there
was, he returned to me and asked if he might take a tin of it to Miss
Malcolm for her patient.
"Who is Miss Malcolm?" I asked. But of course who could she be but the lady
of the island, where he spends the greater part of his time? He was welcome
to the clam-broth, or anything else he thought would be acceptable in that
quarter, I said. And how was the patient?
"Oh, she's quite bad all the time. She doesn't get about. I wonder if
you'd mind, Mrs. Daly, if I asked you to look in on her some day? The old
creature's in a sad way, it seems to me."
Of course I didn't mind, if Miss Malcolm did not. Harshaw seemed to feel
authorized to assure me of that fact. So I went first with Tom, and then I
went again alone, leaving Harshaw in the boat with Kitty.
Miss Malcolm's maid or man servant, or both--for she does the work of both,
and looks in her bed (dressed in a flannel bed-sack, her head tied up in
an old blue knitted "fascinator") less like a woman than anything I ever
beheld--appears to have had a mild form of grippe fever, and having never
been sick in her life before, she thought she was nearing her end.
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