ife, sir, I do
think."

"Plague take him for that!"

"So say not I."

Here, she left him with an excuse. "'T is milking time, sir; and you
shall know that I am our dairymaid. I seldom trouble the inn."

Next day she was on the window-seat, working and beaming. The patient
called to her in peevish accents to put his head higher. She laid down
her work with a smile, and came and raised his head.

"There, now, that is too high," said he; "how awkward you are."

"I lack experience, sir, but not good will. There, now, is that a little
better?"

"Ay, a little. I'm sick of lying here. I want to get up. Dost hear what
I say? I--want--to get up."

"And so you shall. As soon as ever you are fit. To-morrow, perhaps.
To-day you must e'en be patient. Patience is a rare medicine."

* * * * *

Tic, tic, tic! "What a noise they are making down stairs. Go, lass, and
bid them hold their peace."

Mercy shook her head. "Good lack-a-day! we might as well bid the river
give over running; but, to be sure, this comes of keeping a hostelry,
sir. When we had only the farm, we were quiet, and did no ill to no
one."

"Well, sing me, to drown their eternal buzzing: it worries me dead."

"Me sing! alack, sir, I'm no songster."

"That is false. You sing like a throstle. I dote on music; and, when I
was delirious, I heard one singing about my bed; I thought it was an
angel at that time, but 't was only you, my young mistress: and now I
ask you, you say me nay. That is the way with you all. Plague take the
girl, and all her d----d, unreasonable, hypocritical sex. I warrant me
you'd sing, if I wanted to sleep, and dance the Devil to a standstill."

Mercy, instead of flouncing out of the room, stood looking on him with
maternal eyes, and chuckling like a bird. "That is right, sir: tax us
all to your heart's content. O, but I'm a joyful woman to hear you; for
't is a sure sign of mending when the sick take to rating of their
nurses."

"In sooth, I am too cross-grained," said Griffith, relenting.

"Not a whit, sir, for my taste. I've been in care for you: and now you
are a little cross, that maketh me easy."

"Thou art a good soul. Wilt sing me a stave after all?"

"La, you now; how you come back to that. Ay, and with a good heart: for,
to be sure, 't is a sin to gainsay a sick man. But indeed I am the
homeliest singer. Methinks 't is time I went down and bade them cook
your worship's supper."

"Nay