Eric was afraid to say that his mother had taught him the use of the herbs, for fear he should be accused of meddling with witchcraft. But he was delighted to see that his master was pleased at the improvement in the horse, and assured him that she would be able to go a short journey the next day.
"But what about that old wound? How is that?" asked his master.
"Better, sir. I had made some salve—Betty gave me the fat when the last pig was killed—and I knew what herbs to put in it to make a famous heal-all, for they cured my chilblains and—"
"So you thought what would cure you could not fail on poor Peggy's hide?" laughed his master; and he felt so pleased and proud of Eric's skill that he went indoors and spoke of it to his wife.
"Summerleigh need not be afraid of losing old Toby now, for if he should take himself off to-morrow my clever little stable lad can doctor all the horses that he leaves behind."
It was an incautious speech, and he regretted having uttered it the next moment, for his wife said, in a tone of stern rebuke, "John Tyler, I am ashamed of you. To think that you, the landlord of an inn like The Magpie, should encourage witchcraft in your own stable is truly dreadful."
"Witchcraft!" uttered the astonished man. "Who said a word about witchcraft? I only told you how cleverly the boy had doctored poor Peggy."
"Ah, and how did he do it?" solemnly asked his wife. "Did he go and ask old Toby—a decent, respectable man—what he ought to do? Did he, I say?"
"Well, no; it seems to me he knew better how to manage the job by himself, so of course he didn't go to trouble the old man," replied her husband, in rather a crestfallen tone.
"And who taught him all this, if it wasn't his witch-mother, I should like to know?" demanded the lady, in a tone of great severity.