“I come meself, little Miss Carlyle; me man was against it. But the poor lad being in such a bad way, I couldn’t cross him, being soft-hearted myself. Comed up to our van, he did, early yesterday morning, arsking for water. Fell asleep while he were drinking of it, he did, poor natural, and I threw a coat over him and let him lay there. Well, as my man says, the beasts and the poor naturals is sort of specials, in a manner of speaking, if you takes my meaning, and we munna go agin them. So, w’en ’e wakes up all shivery and ’ot at noon, an’ arsks whether it be Midsummer yet, and if so why he be so cold, and whether t’ Cup be safe, and all about the sweet young lady wot was afraid to lose it--well, at first we thinks of ’im as light-’eaded.” Mrs. Grimes stopped for breath. “Talking about that there Cup ’e were, though,” she went on; “and so we listens. ‘Miss Betty’s ’er nyme,’ says ’e, quite sensible, too. ‘I’se ’eard the other young ladies call ’er,’ says ’e. ‘My young lydy she is,’ ses ’e again, ‘wot patched up my cheek. An’ I guv her my word,’ he goes on, ‘to do summut for ’er in return. Aye, an’ I done it,’ ses he. All sensible so far, as my Andrew says; but then the poor natural starts a-crying out with pains in his boneses, and arsking if it be Midsummer Day yet, ’cos ’e’s got to guv the young lydy the Cup wot ’e’s kep’ safe for ’er till then. ’E ’eard ’er say over the garding wall as she was afraid she’d lose it, ses ’e. Well, an’ ’e got worser at night; and my man goes to fetch doctor. An’ doctor comes and ses ’tis rheumatiz fever caught with laying out o’ nights----” “I don’t understand one word, I don’t think,” broke in Betty, almost trembling. “At least I believe I’m beginning to. Only--” She gave a hurried look around. “An’ no need for you to, Miss Carlyle, dear. You just come along o’ me. Doctor says ’twill worsen him to keep calling, and it’s calling out fer you that he’s after. Wants to give her the Cup, so ’e says----” “But how? And I ought to ask leave----!”