This was too much even for Mr. Mudge; “The boy's sick,” said he, “that's plain enough; if he don't get better soon, I must send for the doctor, for work drives, and I can't spare him.”
“There's no more danger of his being sick than mine,” said Mrs. Mudge, emphatically; “however, if you're fool enough to go for a doctor, that's none of my business. I've heard of feigning sickness before now, to get rid of work. As to his being pale, I've been as pale as that myself sometimes without your troubling yourself very much about me.”
“'Twon't be any expense to us,” alleged Mr. Mudge, in a tone of justification, for he felt in some awe of his wife's temper, which was none of the mildest when a little roused, “'Twon't be any expense to us; the town has got to pay for it, and as long as it will get him ready for work sooner, we might as well take advantage of it.”
This consideration somewhat reconciled Mrs. Mudge to the step proposed, and as Paul, instead of getting better, grew rapidly worse, Mr. Mudge thought it expedient to go immediately for the village physician. Luckily Dr. Townsend was at home, and an hour afterwards found him standing beside the sick boy.
“I don't know but you'll think it rather foolish, our sending for you, doctor,” said Mrs. Mudge, “but Mudge would have it that the boy was sick and so he went for you.”
“And he did quite right,” said Dr. Townsend, noticing the ghastly pallor of Paul's face. “He is a very sick boy, and if I had not been called I would not have answered for the consequences. How do you feel, my boy?” he inquired of Paul.
“I feel very weak, and my head swims,” was the reply.
“How and when did this attack come on?” asked the doctor, turning to Mr. Mudge.
“He was taken while hoeing in the field,” was the reply.
“Have you kept him at work much there lately?”