"Now your big warm gret-cut, pappy!"
"Pappy" was her own son; and the "gret-cut" was his old, gray, patched
and double-patched surtout, which now came down from its peg, and spread
its broad flaps, like brooding wings, over the half-drowned human
chicken.
"Now put in the wood, boys! Pour some of that 'ere hot tea down his
throat. Bless him, we'll sweat the cold out of him! we'll give him a
steaming!"
She held with her own hand the cracked tea-cup to the lad's lips, and
made him drink. Then she pulled up the comforter about his face, till
nothing of him was visible but his nose and a curl or two of saturated
tow. Then she had him moved up close to the glowing stove, like a huge
chrysalis to be hatched by the heat.
The dozing centenarian now roused again, and, perceiving the little nose
in the big bundle on the other side of the chimney, was once more
reminded of the sacred duties of hospitality. So he got upon his
trembling old legs again, pulled off his cap, and bowed and smiled as
before, with exquisite politeness, across the stove. "Sarvant, Sah!
Welcome, Sah!".
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