“I've no doubt Alfred did the best he could, under the circumstances,” the Doctor sternly remarked.
“Fiddle-de-dee!” was Miss Betsy's contemptuous answer. “He's no more gizzard than a rabbit. But that's neither here nor there; Mary Potter wants me to go down and help, and go I will!”
“Yes, I think thee might as well go down to-morrow morning, though I'm in hopes the young man may be better, if he minds my directions,” said the Doctor.
“To-morrow mornin'? Why not next week? When help's wanted, give it right away; don't let the grass grow under your feet, say I! Good luck that I gev up Mendenhall's home-comin' over t' the Lion, or I wouldn't ha' been here; so another cup o' tea, Martha, and I'm off!”
Martha left the table at the same time, and followed Miss Betsy up-stairs. Her eyes were full of tears, but she did not tremble, and her voice came firm and clear.
“I am going with you,” she said.
Miss Lavender whirled around and looked at her a minute, without saying a word.
“I see you mean it, child. Don't think me hard or cruel, for I know your feelin's as well as if they was mine; but all the same, I've got to look ahead, and back'ards, and on this side and that, and so lookin', and so judgin', accordin' to my light, which a'n't all tied up in a napkin, what I've got to say is, and ag'in don't think me hard, it won't do!”
“Betsy,” Martha Deane persisted, “a misfortune like this brings my duty with it. Besides, he may be in great danger; he may have got his death,”—
“Don't begin talkin' that way,” Miss Lavender interrupted, “or you'll put me out o' patience. I'll say that for your father, he's always mortal concerned for a bad case, Gilbert Potter or not; and I can mostly tell the heft of a sickness by the way he talks about it,—so that's settled; and as to dooties, it's very well and right, I don't deny it, but never mind, all the same, I said before, the whole thing's a snarl, and I say it ag'in, and unless you've got the end o' the ravellin's in your hand, the harder you pull, the wuss you'll make it!”