"Well, Gwen, I am sorry to hear your little one is ill; but diranwl! babies have nine lives and recover from all sorts of illnesses."
Gwen scarcely withdrew her eyes from her cooking to answer.
"Oh! of course, I know that, Mishteer, I know she will be well soon; but if you had a child of your own, you would know 'tis a cruel thing to see it suffering!"
"B'tshwr, indeed!" said Hugh. "I can quite understand that; but what is it that you are cooking?"
"A mouse," said Gwen. "Malen hysbys says a roasted mouse will cure my baby."
"Caton pawb!" said Hugh, "what nonsense, Gwen! I will send for Dr. Hughes; he ought to have been here sooner. A roasted mouse, indeed. Where did she hear that from? From Peggi Shân?"
"Peggi Shân knew more than Dr. Hughes a good deal," said Gwen; "and if she was alive now my baby would not be suffering; but it will be well by to-morrow."
"I hope so, indeed," said Hugh; "but if you do not let Dr. Hughes see it, I think it will die, Gwen; that is the plain truth, and there is no use hiding it. I will send for him at once. And throw away that nasty thing you are roasting," he added as he left the house.
"Die!" said Gwen fiercely; "she shall not die! There's calmly he says 'die!' I wish I had never let that wife of his touch my baby; it hasn't been well since she nursed it here one day."
As she spoke, through the open doorway came the sounds of singing from a knot of women and children passing by.