"He should have stayed here and attended to his business," the man observes audibly, as he makes a new poultice.
"Mamma!" It is Davy.
"Yes, mamma is here."
"Why don't the doctor come?"
"Are you suffering, precious?"
"I don't know."
"There, let us warm your feet. Don't take them away, pet. See, you breathe easily now."
"Thank God!" says the man "that we are all doctors."
The afternoon wanes.
"Georgie Day, mamma."