The scene, the special savour of wet grass, the fragrant breath of the dairy were of old familiar to Ellinor; but not so the bench placed upon the flags alongside the wall, with its row of dismal figures; not so the businesslike-looking table, whereat, behind a score of gallipots and phials, a basin of water and a basket full of leaves, stood Master Simon in his flowing gown. He was gravely investigating through his spectacles the finger which a boy whimperingly upheld for his inspection. The while, Barnaby, uncouthly busy, flitted to and fro between his master’s chair and the steps that led down to the laboratory. Ellinor leant out of the window to gaze in surprise. Here, then, was the work which her father could only pursue in solitude! She now understood the nature of this branch of his studies: the student was testing upon the _corpus vile_ of the willing population the virtues of his simples! “Fortunately,” thought Ellinor, “such remedies can proverbially do but little harm and often do much good.” And she watched his doings with amused interest. But Madam Tutterville could not look upon them in the same tolerant spirit. When she had numbered the congregation, she stood a moment with empurpled cheeks and rounded lips, inhaling a mighty breath of reprobation, preparatory to launching forth the “word in reason and out of reason” as soon as she saw her chance. “Now, Thomas Lane,” said the unconscious Master Simon impressively, as he wrapped round the finger a rag smeared with green ointment, “if you do as I bid you the fairies won’t pinch your poor thumb any more; let me see it next Tuesday. Who is next?” The buxom damsel, whom Ellinor had noted and who still held the corner of her apron to her eye, advanced and curtseyed. “Deborah!” cried Madam Tutterville, recognising with horror one of her model village maids. Master Simon shot a swift glance upwards from under his bushy brows; too well did he recognise the tones of his sister’s voice. Ellinor had not deemed him capable of looking so angry; and, unwilling to be associated with any hostile interference, she moved away quietly from her aunt’s side, left the room and proceeded to the courtyard itself. She was drawn thither also by another reason. There is the woman who shrinks from the sight of sores and wounds; and there is the woman whose sensitiveness takes the form of longing to lave and bind. She was of the latter. When she reached the table the action had briskly begun between Madam Tutterville and her brother. The artillery on the lady’s side was characterised rather by rapidity of delivery than by accuracy of aim. The old man’s replies were few and short, but every shot told. Deborah, distracted between awe of the wizard’s cunning and deference to a reproving yet liberal mistress, stood whimpering between the two fires of words, her apron making excursions from the sick to the sound eye. Some of the patients grinned, others looked alarmed.