'e nout--dang 'em--an' how be _I_ to do't? It be all'ays hard
bread wi' Silas, an' a deal harder now she' ta'en them pains. I won't stan'
it much longer. Gammon! If she keeps on that way I'll just cut. See how the
workus fellahs 'ill like _that_!'

'The Doctor gives his services for nothing,' I said.

'An' _does_ nothin', bless him! ha, ha. No more nor that old deaf gammon
there that costs me three tizzies a week, and haint worth a h'porth--no
more nor Meg there, that's making all she can o' them pains. They be all a
foolin' o' me, an' thinks I don't know't. Hey? _we_'ll see.'

All this time he was cutting a bit of tobacco into shreds on the
window-stone.

'A workin' man be same as a hoss; if he baint cared, he can't work--'tisn't
in him:' and with these words, having by this time stuffed his pipe with
tobacco, he poked the deaf lady, who was pattering about with her back
toward him, rather viciously with the point of his stick, and signed for a
light.

'It baint in him, you can't get it out o' 'im, no more nor ye'll draw smoke
out o' this,' and he raised his pipe an inch or two, with his thumb on the
bowl, 'without backy and fire. 'Tisn't in it.'

'Maybe I can be of some use?' I said, thinking.

'Maybe,' he rejoined.

By this time he received from the old deaf abigail a flaming roll of brown
paper, and, touching his hat to me, he withdrew, lighting his pipe and
sending up little white puffs, like the salute of a departing ship.

So he did not care to hear how his daughter was, and had only come here to
light his pipe!

Just then the Doctor emerged.

'We have been waiting to hear how your poor patient is to-day?' I said.

'Very ill, indeed, and utterly neglected, I fear. If she were equal
to it--but she's not--I think she ought to be removed to the hospital
immediately.'

'That poor old woman is quite deaf, and the man is so surly and selfish!
Could you recommend a nurse who would stay here till she's better? I will
pay her with pleasure, and anything you think might be good for the poor
girl.'

So this was settled on the spot. Doctor Jolks was kind, like most men
of his calling, and undertook to send the nurse from Feltram with a few
comforts for the patient; and he called Dickon to the yard-gate, and I
suppose told him of the arrangement; and Milly and I went to the poor
girl's door and asked, 'May we come in?'

There was no answer. So, with the conventional construction of silence, we
entered. Her