“A-h-h! Father o’ five I was at his age. How be Mary Farleigh, miss?”
“A shade better.” She looked up at the darkening skies. “I shall just have time to get home. Good night, Master Burble.”
“Good night, miss.”
III
After Cicely had left him, the Ancient dozed pleasantly, being full of ale paid for by others. Martha Giles awoke him by shaking his shoulder.
“Be you quite sober, Master Burble?” she asked in a neighbourly spirit, and not unmindful of the change in the weather.
Nicodemus wagged his head, remarking chirrupingly:
“I’ve had a rare skin-full, Martha, and my old legs tell me so, not my head, old girl. Call it a touch o’ lumbager, as I did to Miss Cicely. So Mary be better, hey?”
“Yas, Mary be better and Timothy worse, pore dear soul!”
“What? Down wi’ the fever, too?”