But the pony had to be fetched out again before Joseph had removed his saddle; for just as Mr Tiddson was taking off his gloves and overcoat, a man came running up to the door, and tore at the bell, panting the while with his exertions.
“Well, what now? Is Betty Starger worse?”
“No,”—puff—“no, sir;”—puff—“it’s—it’s—”
“Well? Why don’t you speak, man?”
“Breath, sir!”—puff. “Run—all way!—puff.”
“Yes, yes,” said Mr Tiddson. “And now what is it?”
“Hax—haxiden, sir,” puffed the messenger.
“Bless my soul, my good man! Where?” exclaimed the doctor, rubbing his hands.
“Down by Crossroads, sir; and they war takin’ a gate off the hinges to lay him on, and carry him to the Seven Bells, when I run for you, sir.”
“And how was it?—and who is it?” said the doctor.