Yes, Mr. Blane was in, and Marks followed the boy sorrowfully.
"Good morning, Mr. Marks. Come for some medicine? Where's the bottle?"
"No, thank'ee, Sir," said Matthew, twirling his hat about uncomfortably. "My wife's took worse, and wants to know if so be ye'd make it convenient to come and physic her?"
Yes; Mr. Blane could go at once, having no other call upon his time just at present.
"And what's the matter with Mrs. Marks?" asked he, when they were fairly on their way.
"That's more nor I can tell, Sir. She's all over like a live coal, and 'ud drink a bucket full if ye'd give it her."
"Has she taken the medicine regularly?"
This was a poser. Matthew scratched his head, took off his cap; he was in no way prepared for such a question. What should he say?
"Well," said he presently, in a conciliating tone, "Well, you see, Sir, when folks is ill they takes queer fancies sometimes, as I dare say yer know better nor I can tell'ee. Now my wife's got hers, and no mistake; she says you've gived her pisin."
It was Mr. Blane's turn now to be astonished, this being an answer he was not prepared for. "Poison!" he echoed.