The servant had directed him to the last house in the village, but, when he got outside of the gate, there were houses in two directions. He looked about for some one and from whom to inquire further, and his eye fell upon our old acquaintance, the constable, coming out of his door with a parcel under his arm.
The little man was in a brown study, and did not notice Tom's first address. He was in fact anxiously thinking over his old friend's illness and her son's trouble; and was on his way to Farmer Grove's, (having luckily the excuse of taking a coat to be tried on) in the hopes of getting him to interfere and patch up the quarrel between young Tester and Harry.
Tom's first salute had been friendly enough; no one knew better how to speak to the poor, amongst whom he had lived all his life, than he. But, not getting any answer, and being in a touchy state of mind, he was put out, and shouted—
“Hello, my man, can't you hear me?”
“Ees, I beant dunch,” replied the constable, turning and looking at his questioner.
“I thought you were, for I spoke loud enough before. Which is Mrs. Winburn's cottage?”
“The furdest house down ther,” he said, pointing, “'tis in my way if you've a mind to come.” Tom accepted the offer and walked along by the constable.
“Mrs. Winburn is ill, isn't she,” he asked, after looking his guide over.
“Ees, her be—terrible bad,” said the constable.
“What is the matter with her, do you know?”