“No, you did not. You were not strong enough to go up to the church, and you fancied you saw something.”
“I see it.”
“Well, suppose you did. Some one had gone into the church to fetch a hymn-book, or put in a new cushion.”
“Nobody couldn’t, but me and parson, and squire and you. I see it, and it was my fetch.”
“No, no, old fellow; you’re mistaken. You were in the dark, and your head weak.”
“I see it, and it was my fetch, doctor.”
“Very well, then, Moredock, it was your fetch; but we won’t let it fetch you for some years to come. What do you say to that?”
“Ah! now you’re talking sensible, doctor,” cried the old man, brightening up. “Look here, doctor, you do what’s right by me, and let me have the best o’ stuff—good physic, you know—and there isn’t anything I won’t do for you. A skull, or a bone of any kind, or a whole set, or—”
“There, that will do, Moredock. I’ll do my duty by you, and I don’t want any reward.”
“No, you don’t. You’re a good fellow, doctor; and you do understand my complaint, don’t you?”