"
"The _what_ on the end of his nose?"
"Thuh poomple, sur."
"What does she mean, Mrs. Miller?" said the puzzled questioner, turning
to his tenant.
"I don't know, sir, indeed," was the reply. "She said that to me, and
I couldn't understand her."
"It's thuh poomple, docther. Dawn't ye knoo? Thuh big, flehmin poomple
oop there." She indicated the locality, by flattening the rude tip of
her own nose with her broad forefinger.
"Oh! the pimple! I have it." So he had. Netty, Netty!
He said nothing, but sat down in a chair, with his bold, white brow
knitted, and the warm tears in his dark eyes.
"You know who sent it, sir, don't you?" asked his wondering tenant,
catching the meaning of all this.
"Mrs. Miller, I do. But I cannot tell you. Take it, now, and use it.
It is doubly yours. There. Thank you."
She had taken it with an emotion in her face that gave a quicker motion
to his throbbing heart. He rose to his feet, hat in hand, and turned
away. The noise of a passing group of roysterers in the street without
came strangely loud into the silence of that room.
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