The last sentence was addressed to the little Doctor, who, after staring at the patient for some minutes without noticeable result, nodded his head, announced that the fever must run its course, and promised to send a capable nurse up to Kit's House without delay.
"Beggin' your pard'n, Doctor," interposed Caleb with firmness, "but I've a-got my orders."
"Eh?"
"I've a-got my orders. Plaise God, an' wi' plenty o' doctor's trade, [1] us'll pull 'un round: but nobody nusses maaster 'ceptin' you an' me—leastways, no womankind."
"This is nonsensical."
"Nonsensical, do 'ee say? Look 'ee here, Doctor; do 'ee think I'd trust a woman up here wi' maaster a-makin' offers o' marriage sixteen to the dozen? Why, bless 'ee, sir, her'd be down an' ha' the banns called afore night, an' maaster not fit to shake hes head, much less say as the Prayer Books orders—'I renounce mun all.' That's a woman, Doctor, an' ef any o' the genteel sex sets foot on Kit's beach I'll—I'll stone her."
The Doctor gave way in the end and withdrew, promising another visit before evening. When he returned, however, at five in the afternoon, he found, with some wonder, a woman quietly installed in the sick-room. It happened thus:—
Barely an hour after the Doctor's departure, Caleb, sitting at his master's bedside, heard footsteps on the gravel walk, and looked out of window.
"Hist!" he called softly; and Peter Dearlove, followed by Paul, stepped round the angle of the house into sight. The Twins bore a look of the gravest perplexity and a large market basket.
"Hulloa!" said Caleb, "what's up?"