"Why, no."
"I don't think so nuther. Ef she was," added Paul regretfully, "you'd have to be extry partic'lar not to roll her body 'pon casks. That was a great p'int."
"'Tes a long step round to fetch that book," sighed Peter.
"An' terrable long words i' th' index when you've got et. Stop, now: es et faintin', do 'ee think?"
"Well," answered Paul thoughtfully, "et mou't be faintin'."
"'Cos, ef so, the best way es to hold the sufferer upsi-down an' dash cold water over the face."
"That wud be takin' too much of a liberty, wudn' et, Paul?"
But at this point the blood came trickling back into Miss Limpenny's cheeks; the eyelids fluttered, opened; she gasped a little, looked up, and—
"Is he gone?" she asked in a weak whisper.
"Gone? Who, ma'am?"