and down through the turves, and they closed over she just as afore. But I heard her still a mumbling to herself under the hearth-stone, "He’ll burn, he’ll burn, he’ll burn!"’ ’Oh, Joyce, you were fevered and wandering in your mind,’ said Herring, who belonged to the nineteenth century after Christ. The condition of Joyce’s mind was that of a savage three centuries before Christ. ’After that,’ she went on, ’I told vaither all, and he hev come here and been very good to I. You see he be mortal afeered o’ being caught asleep in the linny in the straw by mother wi’ a flaming turve in her hand. He thinks her won’t make much worrit o’ nights, becos of disturbing me. And then he laughs and sez, "Mother be that pleased I hev a given her summat to play with, and her be a playing wi’ that and won’t trouble no more." ’Joyce, your father must be very sorry for what he has done.’ ’He is that for sartain. All becos you see he’ve a got to do everything himself now. Afore, I did a deal of things. I got up the taties, and I baked ’em in the ashes, and I milked the cow, and I did scores and scores of things. But now that I hev my arms a broke it puts a deal o’ work on vaither. Her hev to do everything from morning to night. And vaither be getting an old man, and not up to work as he were years by. He feels it, sure, very much, and wishes he hadn’t a done it now. But wot’s the good o’ wishing. Wishing won’t mend broken bones.’ Herring was kneeling by her. He could not understand the girl. Was she delirious, or was this the outpour of her reasonable soul? He put his hand on her low forehead, brushing up the shock of coarse hair. He wished to feel her pulse, but could not touch the artery in the broken hand. She lay very still with her eyes fixed on him. ’You are feverish,’ he said. ’I am going to fetch a doctor.’ ’I say,’ exclaimed Joyce, vehemently, ’you’ve swore not to tell the constable of vaither. If you were to do that, I’d never be friends wi’ you more.’ Friends with him! The poor savage and the lieutenant in His Majesty’s service! Herring was unable to suppress a smile. ’Joyce,’ he said gravely, ’you must have those poor arms patched up. The surgeon must attend you. I shall have you carried hence. No doubt Miss Cicely will know of a cottage where you can be received.’ ’No,’ she said hoarsely, even fiercely, ’I’ll go over no drexil (threshold). Let me lie here and die where I’ve a lived.’ ’But I insist on a doctor attending you.’ ’What can a doctor do for me? It ain’t in nature. What be broke be broke; be it a leg, or a neck, or a arm, or a heart, it be all one. What be a broke be a broke for ever and ever, Amen.’ After some difficulty he persuaded her to consent. Then he ran off to South Tawton for a surgeon. He returned with one rather over an hour later. Then he stood outside whilst the medical man entered the den and examined the patient. Presently he was called.