that poor girl there?' he said, when he had made his
salutation, prodding with his levelled stick in the direction. 'Hawke, or
Hawkes, I think.'

'Beauty's sick, Maud,' exclaimed Milly.

'_Hawkes_. She's upon my dispensary list. Yes,' said the doctor, looking
into his little note-book--'Hawkes.'

'And what is her complaint?'

'Rheumatic fever.'

'Not infectious?'

'Not the least--no more, as we say, Miss Ruthyn, than a broken leg,' and he
laughed obligingly.

So soon as the doctor had departed, Milly and I agreed to follow to Hawkes'
cottage and enquire more particularly how she was. To say truth, I am
afraid it was rather for the sake of giving our walk a purpose and a point
of termination, than for any very charitable interest we might have felt in
the patient.

Over the inequalities of the upland slope, clumped with trees, we reached
the gabled cottage, with its neglected little farm-yard. A rheumatic old
woman was the only attendant; and, having turned her ear in an attitude of
attention, which induced us in gradually exalted keys to enquire how Meg
was, she informed us in very loud tones that she had long lost her hearing
and was perfectly deaf. And added considerately--

'When the man comes in, 'appen he'll tell ye what ye want.'

Through the door of a small room at the further end of that in which we
were, we could see a portion of the narrow apartment of the patient, and
hear her moans and the doctor's voice.

'We'll see him, Milly, when he comes out. Let us wait here.'

So we stood upon the door-stone awaiting him. The sounds of suffering had
moved my compassion and interested us for the sick girl.

'Blest if here isn't Pegtop,' said Milly.

And the weather-stained red coat, the swarthy forbidding face and sooty
locks of old Hawkes loomed in sight, as he stumped, steadying himself with
his stick, over the uneven pavement of the yard. He touched his hat gruffly
to me, but did not seem half to like our being where we were, for he looked
surlily, and scratched his head under his wide-awake.

'Your daughter is very ill, I'm afraid,' said I.

'Ay--she'll be costin' me a handful, like her mother did,' said Pegtop.

'I hope her room is comfortable, poor thing.'

'Ay, that's it; she be comfortable enough, I warrant--more nor I. It be all
Meg, and nout o' Dickon.'

'When did her illness commence?' I asked.

'Day the mare wor shod--_Saturday_. I talked a bit wi' the workus folk, but
they won't gi