"Liver out of order--liver--not a doubt about it," said the vicar. "What a strange thing it is nature couldn't make a man without a liver and save him all his sufferings from bile. Come along with me to the Vicarage. I'm getting in order there now, and I'll doctor you, and go and tell Mr Purley myself that I've been poaching on his preserves. Why, what's the matter, man?" John Maine had started as if stung at certain of his latter words. "Bit giddy, sir; strange and bad now it's come on," he stammered. "That's right; you're better now. Sitting with your head down. I'll doctor you--no secrets: tincture of rhubarb, citrate of magnesia, and a little brandy. I'll soon set you right. You mustn't be ill. This is cricket night, isn't it?" "Yes, sir; but they haven't played since the strike." "Perhaps they will to-night, and I shall come to the field. Well, come along." "But really, sir--I--that is--" "Now look here, John Maine, I'm the spiritual head of the parish, and you must obey me. I can't help being a man of only your own age--I shall get the better of that. Now if I had been some silver-headed old gentleman, you would have come without a word; so come along. I'll go back. You are decidedly ill--there's no mistake about it." To John Maine's great surprise, the vicar took his arm, and half led him back towards Dumford, chattering pleasantly the while. "I met Mr Simeon Slee as I came along, and he cut me dead. He's a very nice man in his way, but I'm afraid he works so hard with his tongue, it takes all the strength out of his arms." "He's strange and fond o' talking, sir," said John Maine. "Yes; but words are only words after all, and if they are light and chaffy, they don't grow like good grain. Bad thing this strike in the town, Maine. Lasted a month now." "Very bad, sir." "Ah, yes. You agricultural gentlemen don't indulge in those luxuries, and I'm glad to see that the farm people are very sober." "Yes, sir, 'cept at the stattice and the fair." "Stattice?" said the vicar, inquiringly. "Yes, sir, status--statute-hiring, you know, when the servants leave. They call it `pag-rag' day here." "Ha, do they?" said the vicar; "well, I suppose I shall learn all in time. What may `pag-rag' mean?" "They call it so here, sir," said the young man, smiling. "They say a man pags a sack on his back, and I suppose it means they carry off their clothes then." "I see," said the vicar; "and you have some strange characters about at such times? By the way, I saw a nice respectable couple turn in at the Bull and Cucumber, as I came by. They'd got poacher stamped on their faces plainly.--Head bad?" "Sudden stab, sir, that's all," said John Maine, holding his hands to his head and shuddering. "Ah, you must go back and lie down as soon as I have done with you, or else I must find you a sofa for an hour. We'll see how you are. Perhaps we'll walk home together."