Paul Carrick found him breathing gently, with a slight tint of red in his cheek; and told Mercy there was a change for the better. "We have brought him to a true intermission," said he; "so throw in the bark at once."
"What, drench his honour's worship!" said Mercy, innocently. "Nay, send thou the medicine, and I'll find womanly ways to get it down him."
Next day came the doctor, and whispered softly to Mrs. Vint, "How are we all upstairs?"
"Why couldn't you come afore?" replied Mrs Vint, crossly. "Here's farrier Carrick stepped in, and curing him out of hand; the meddlesome body."
"A farrier rob me of my patient!" cried the doctor, in high dudgeon.
"Nay, good sir, 'tis no fault of mine. This Paul is a sort of a kind of a follower of our Mercy's: and she is mistress here, I trow."
"And what hath his farriership prescribed? Friar's balsam, belike."
"Nay, I know not; but you may soon learn, for he is above, physicking the gentleman (a pretty gentleman!) and suiting to our Mercy—after a manner."
The doctor declined to make one in so mixed a consultation.
"Give me my fee, dame," said he: "and as for this impertinent farrier, the patient's blood be on his head; and I'd have him beware the law."