kicked. He retaliated with a blow from his bony fist on Piers's jaw. The next day Finch had to stay in bed, and Renny ordered that he should be allowed to go his way in peace. No use to trouble about him. He was a problem that could not be solved.
The next night he resumed his playing in the church.
Returning home past midnight, he let himself in at the side door of the house and was just passing his grandmother's room when her voice called: "Who is there? Come here, please."
Finch hesitated. He had a mind to steal up the stairs without answering. He did not want her to know that he had been out till that hour. She might get to watching him. Questions might be asked. Still, she might really need someone. Worst of all, she might be about to stage another deathbed scene. That would be appalling.
As he hesitated, she called again, sharply: "Who's there? Come quickly, please!"
Finch opened the door of her room and put his head inside. By the night-light he could see her propped up on her two pillows, her nightcap shadowing her eyes, her old mouth sunken. But her expression was inquiring rather than anxious; her hands were clasped with resignation on the coverlet.
He felt suddenly tender toward her. He asked: "Want a drink, Grannie dear? Anything I can do?"
"Ha, it's you, is it, Finch? Well, well, you don't often visit me at this hour. You don't often visit me at all. I like boys about me. Come and sit you down. I want to be talked to."
He came to the bedside and looked down at her. She took his hand and pulled him close, and closer till she could kiss him.
"Ha!" she said. "Nice smooth young cheek! Now sit here on the bed and be a nice boy. You are a nice boy, aren't you?"
Finch gave his sheepish grin. "I'm afraid not, Gran."
"Not nice! Who says so?"
"I don't think anyone has ever called me a nice boy, Gran."
