And about Jessie?
His head went lower, and he groaned aloud as this thought flashed across his mind, for his load seemed more than he could bear.
“Anything the matter, John Maine?”
The young man leaped up to find himself face to face with Mr Selwood, whose steps had been inaudible in the dusty road, and John Maine’s thoughts had been too much taken up for him to notice the whine of recognition by the dog, who had leaped up and ran forward to welcome the vicar.
“Bit of a headache, sir, bad headache—this heat, sir,” stammered the young man.
“Liver out of order—liver—not a doubt about it,” said the vicar. “What a strange thing it is nature couldn’t make a man without a liver and save him all his sufferings from bile. Come along with me to the Vicarage. I’m getting in order there now, and I’ll doctor you, and go and tell Mr Purley myself that I’ve been poaching on his preserves. Why, what’s the matter, man?”
John Maine had started as if stung at certain of his latter words.
“Bit giddy, sir; strange and bad now it’s come on,” he stammered.
“That’s right; you’re better now. Sitting with your head down. I’ll doctor you—no secrets: tincture of rhubarb, citrate of magnesia, and a little brandy. I’ll soon set you right. You mustn’t be ill. This is cricket night, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir; but they haven’t played since the strike.”