There was a small inn within sight, to which it would seem he had been directing his steps when so unexpectedly overtaken. Towards this place he hurried with his unconscious burden, and rushing into the kitchen, and calling upon the company there assembled to make way for God’s sake, deposited it on a chair before the fire.
The company, who rose in confusion upon the schoolmaster’s entrance, did as people usually do under such circumstances. Everybody called for his or her favourite remedy, which nobody brought; each cried for more air, at the same time carefully excluding what air there was, by closing round the object of sympathy; and all wondered why somebody else didn’t do, what it never appeared to occur to them might be done by themselves.
The landlady, however, who possessed more readiness and activity than any of them, and who had withal a quicker perception of the merits of the case, soon came running in with a little hot brandy and water; followed by her servant-girl, carrying vinegar, hartshorn, smelling-salts, and such other restoratives; which, being duly administered, recovered the child so far as to enable her to thank them in a faint voice, and to extend her hand to the poor schoolmaster, who stood with an anxious face, hard by. Without suffering her to speak another word, or so much as to stir a finger any more, the women straightway carried her off to bed; and having covered her up warm, bathed her cold feet, and wrapped them in flannel, they despatched a messenger for the doctor.
The doctor, who was a red-nosed gentleman with a great bunch of seals dangling below a waistcoat of ribbed black satin, arrived with all speed, and taking his seat by the bedside of poor Nell, drew out his watch, and felt her pulse. Then he looked at her tongue, then he felt her pulse again, and while he did so, he eyed the half-emptied wineglass as if in profound abstraction.
“I should give her—” said the doctor at length, “A teaspoonful every now and then, of hot brandy and water.”
“Why, that’s exactly what we’ve done, sir!” said the delighted landlady.
“I should also,” observed the doctor, who had passed the foot-bath on the stairs, “I should also,” said the doctor, in the voice of an oracle, “put her feet in hot water, and wrap them up in flannel. I should likewise,” said the doctor, with increased solemnity, “give her something light for supper—the wing of a roasted fowl now—”
“Why goodness gracious me sir, it’s cooking at the kitchen fire this instant!” cried the landlady. And so indeed it was, for the schoolmaster had ordered it to be put down, and it was getting on so well that the doctor might have smelt it if he had tried—perhaps he did.
“You may then,” said the doctor, rising gravely, “give her a glass of hot mulled port wine, if she likes wine—”
“And a toast, sir?” suggested the landlady.
“Ay,” said the doctor, in the tone of a man who makes a dignified concession. “And a toast—of bread. But be very particular to make it of bread, if you please ma’am.”
With which parting injunction, slowly and portentously delivered, the doctor departed, leaving the whole house in admiration of that wisdom which tallied so closely with their own. Everybody said he was a very shrewd doctor indeed, and knew perfectly what people’s constitutions were; which there appears some reason to suppose he did.
While her supper was preparing, the child fell into a refreshing sleep, from which they were obliged to rouse her when it was ready. As she evinced extraordinary uneasiness on learning that her grandfather was below stairs, and was greatly troubled at the thought of their being apart, he took his supper with her. Finding her still very restless on this head, they made him up a bed in an inner room, to which he presently retired. The key of this chamber happened by good fortune to be on that side of the door which was in Nell’s room; she turned it on him when the landlady had withdrawn, and crept to bed again with a thankful heart.
The schoolmaster sat for a long time smoking his pipe by the kitchen fire, which was now deserted, thinking, with a very happy face, on the fortunate chance which had brought him so opportunely to the child’s assistance, and parrying, as well as in his simple way he could, the inquisitive cross-examination of the landlady, who had a great curiosity to be made acquainted with every particular of Nell’s life and history. The poor schoolmaster was so openhearted, and so little versed in the most ordinary cunning or deceit, that she could not have failed to succeed in the first five minutes, but that he happened to be unacquainted with what she wished to know; and so he told her. The landlady, by no means satisfied with this assurance, which she considered an ingenious evasion of the question, rejoined that he had his reasons of course. Heaven forbid that she should wish to pry into the affairs of her customers, which indeed were no business of hers, who had so many of her own. She had merely asked a civil question, and to be sure she knew it would meet with a civil answer. She was quite satisfied—quite. She had rather perhaps that he would have said at once that he didn’t choose to be communicative, because that would have been plain and intelligible. However, she had no right to be offended of course. He was the best judge, and had a perfect right to say what he pleased; nobody could dispute that, for a moment. Oh dear, no!
“I assure you, my good lady,” said the mild schoolmaster, “that I have told you the plain truth—as I hope to be saved, I have told you the truth.”
“Why then, I do believe you are in earnest,” rejoined the landlady, with ready good-humour, “and I’m very sorry I have teased you.
