“Indeed,” said the doctor, growing interested. “But you ought to know a chanterelle if you saw one. Are you sure what you gave Mrs Bruff were right?”
“Quite, uncle; I am certain.”
“Dear me! But they are reckoned to be perfectly wholesome food. I don’t understand it. There, pick up the potatoes, and let’s cut the cauliflowers. I’ll go and see what’s wrong.”
Five minutes after the basket was handed in to Martha; and then the doctor washed his hands, changed his hat, and signified to Aunt Hannah where they were going.
“That’s right, my dear, I thought you would,” said the old lady, beaming. “Going too, Vane, my dear?”
“Yes, aunt.”
“That’s right. I hope you will find him better.”
Vane hoped so, too, in his heart, as he walked with his uncle to the gardener’s cottage, conjuring up all kinds of suffering, and wondering whether the man had been ill all the night; and, to make matters worse, a deep groan came from the open bedroom window as they approached.
Vane looked at his uncle in horror.
“Good sign, my boy,” said the doctor cheerfully. “Not very bad, or he would not have made that noise. Well, Mrs Bruff,” he continued, as the woman appeared to meet them at the door, “so Ebenezer is unwell?”