“AND how is your good man, Mrs. Haley?” said the vicar, who had now reached the spot on which the old woman stood,—with Lily’s fair face still bended down to her,—while Kenelm slowly followed him.
“Thank you kindly, sir, he is better; out of his bed now. The young lady has done him a power of good—”
“Hush!” said Lily, colouring. “Make haste home now; you must not keep him waiting for his dinner.”
The old woman again curtsied, and went off at a brisk pace.
“Do you know, Mr. Chillingly,” said Mr. Emlyn, “that Miss Mordaunt is the best doctor in the place? Though if she goes on making so many cures she will find the number of her patients rather burdensome.”
“It was only the other day,” said Lily, “that you scolded me for the best cure I have yet made.”
“I?—Oh! I remember; you led that silly child Madge to believe that there was a fairy charm in the arrowroot you sent her. Own you deserved a scolding there.”
“No, I did not. I dressed the arrowroot, and am I not Fairy? I have just got such a pretty note from Clemmy, Mr. Emlyn, asking me to come up this evening and see her new magic lantern. Will you tell her to expect me? And, mind, no scolding.”
“And all magic?” said Mr. Emlyn; “be it so.”
Lily and Kenelm had not hitherto exchanged a word. She had replied with a grave inclination of her head to his silent bow. But now she turned to him shyly and said, “I suppose you have been fishing all the morning?”