"Well, you ain't fattened up any," he said with a quizzical grin and
side glance.

That made him look more like himself, but Pancha noticed that his
movements were stiff.

"What's the matter?" she said sharply. "You ain't got the rheumatism
again, have you?"

"Nup," he sank slowly into the chair. "But sometimes when I first move
I sort 'er kink at the knees. Gets me in the morning, but I limber up
all right."

She stood beside him, uneasily frowning.

"What are you goin' to do this winter when the rains begin? You can't run
risks of being sick, and me not able to get to you."

"Sick--hell!" He shot a humorous look at her. "I ain't sick in God's own
country--it's only down here. Why y'ain't all as stiff as stone images in
this sea-damp beats me."

"Oh, it's the damp," she said, relieved.

"Course it's the damp. I wouldn't expect a rope dancer to live here and
stay spry."

That was like Pa; her anxiety evaporated and she began to smile.