"I'm going to see Dorcas."
"What for?"
"Because her li'l chap's queer. Nothing at all, David--only a bit of a tissick on the chest. And I've made up some cautcheries[#] after a recipe of mother's for him. And this here's a bit of that big, blue-vinnied cheese as you said we never should be able to eat. 'Tis a pity to waste it."
[#] Physic.
"Anything else?"
"No--except a pint of whortleberries what I gathered yesterday; and a couple of they pigs' trotters for your sister."
"Can't they pick their own whortleberries?"
"Dorcas be a thought poorly herself. There's another little one coming a'ready."
He frowned and sat still on his horse, looking straight between its ears.
"Always swarm where they ban't wanted--like bees," he said. Then he turned to Margaret.