But ever since this malady left me a lonely dominie for life, diphtheria has been a knockdown word for me.

Jess had discovered a great white spot on her throat.

I knew the symptoms.
"Is't dangerous ?" asked Hendry, who once had a headache years before, and could still refer to it as a reminiscence.
"Them 'at has 't never recovers," said Jess, sitting down very quietly.
A stick fell from the fire, and she bent forward to replace it.
"They do recover," cried Leeby, again turning angry eyes on me.
I could not face her; I had known so many who did not recover.

She put her hand on her mother's shoulder.
"Mebbe ye would be better in yer bed," suggested Hendry.
No one spoke.
"When I had the headache," said Hendry, "I was better in my bed." Leeby had taken Jess's hand--a worn old hand that had many a time gone out in love and kindness when younger hands were cold.

Poets have sung and fighting men have done great deeds for hands that never had such a record.
"If ye could eat something," said Hendry, "I would gae to the flesher's for 't.