'Not the least--no more, as we say, Miss Ruthyn, than a broken leg,' and he laughed obligingly. So soon as the doctor had departed, Milly and I agreed to follow to Hawkes' cottage and enquire more particularly how she was. To say truth, I am afraid it was rather for the sake of giving our walk a purpose and a point of termination, than for any very charitable interest we might have felt in the patient. Over the inequalities of the upland slope, clumped with trees, we reached the gabled cottage, with its neglected little farm-yard. A rheumatic old woman was the only attendant; and, having turned her ear in an attitude of attention, which induced us in gradually exalted keys to enquire how Meg was, she informed us in very loud tones that she had long lost her hearing and was perfectly deaf. And added considerately-- 'When the man comes in, 'appen he'll tell ye what ye want.' Through the door of a small room at the further end of that in which we were, we could see a portion of the narrow apartment of the patient, and hear her moans and the doctor's voice. 'We'll see him, Milly, when he comes out. Let us wait here.' So we stood upon the door-stone awaiting him. The sounds of suffering had moved my compassion and interested us for the sick girl. 'Blest if here isn't Pegtop,' said Milly. And the weather-stained red coat, the swarthy forbidding face and sooty locks of old Hawkes loomed in sight, as he stumped, steadying himself with his stick, over the uneven pavement of the yard. He touched his hat gruffly to me, but did not seem half to like our being where we were, for he looked surlily, and scratched his head under his wide-awake. 'Your daughter is very ill, I'm afraid,' said I. 'Ay--she'll be costin' me a handful, like her mother did,' said Pegtop. 'I hope her room is comfortable, poor thing.' 'Ay, that's it; she be comfortable enough, I warrant--more nor I. It be all Meg, and nout o' Dickon.' 'When did her illness commence?' I asked. 'Day the mare wor shod--_Saturday_. I talked a bit wi' the workus folk, but they won't gi'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.