"What did she want?" asked Jan.
"Bad in her inside, she says. I gave her three good doses of jalap."
"Jalap!" echoed Jan. "Well, it won't do her much harm. She won't take 'em; she'll throw 'em away."
"Law, Jan!" For, in the private familiarity of the surgery, young Cheese was thus accustomed unceremoniously to address his master—as Jan was. And Jan allowed it with composure.
"She'll throw 'em away," repeated Jan. "There's not a worse lot for physic in all the parish than Dame Dawson. I know her of old. She thought she'd get peppermint and cordials ordered for her—an excuse for running up a score at the public-house. Where's the doctor?"
"He's off somewhere. I saw one of the Bitterworth grooms come to the house this afternoon, so perhaps something's wrong there. I say, Jan, there'll be a stunning pie for supper!"
"Have you seen it?"
"Haven't I! I went into the kitchen when she was making it. It has got a hare inside it, and forcemeat balls."
"Who?" asked Jan—alluding to the maker.
"Miss Deb," replied young Cheese. "It's sure to be something extra good, for her to go and make it. If she doesn't help me to a rare good serving, sha'n't I look black at her!"