“Rubbish! Look at the skin of her ears. And she isn’t coughing at all. What’s she been overeating?”
“Nothing—only the grass Flynt has been cutting.”
“Why don’t you give her a dose of castor-oil?”
“She won’t take it. She knows we’ve covered it up—I told you she’s got as much brains as a Christian.”
“Let me try and get it down.”
“It is down. The piglets ate the mess up.”
“Oh dear!” laughed Jinny. “That will need Jorrow. Anything else, Mrs. Flynt?”
“I can’t think this morning. Ask Flynt.”
Caleb, however, proved equally distraught.
“There was summat extra special, Oi know,” he said, his red-shirted arm clinging heroically to Methusalem’s bridle, “for here’s the knot in my hankercher. But what it singafies Lord onny knows.”