“Here is the terrible carbuncle,” he cried, with a laugh, in which all the party, except Blaize, joined.

“It’s my pomander-box,” said the latter.  “I filled it with a mixture of citron-peel, angelica seed, zedoary, yellow saunders, aloes, benzoin, camphor, and gum-tragacanth, moistened with spirit of roses; and after placing it on the chafing-dish to heat it, hung it by a string round my neck, next my dried toad.  I suppose, by some means or other, it dropped through my doublet, and found its way to my side.  I felt a dreadful burning there, and that made me fancy I was attacked by the plague.”

“A very satisfactory solution of the mystery,” replied the doctor, laughing; “and you may think yourself well off with the blister which your box has raised.  It will be easier to bear than the cataplasm I should have given you, had your apprehensions been well founded.  As yet, you are free from infection, young man; but if you persist in this silly and pernicious practice of quacking yourself, you will infallibly bring on some fatal disorder—­perhaps the plague itself.  If your mother has any regard for you she will put all your medicines out of your reach.  There are few known remedies against this frightful disease; and what few there are, must be adopted cautiously.  My own specific is sack.”

“Sack!” exclaimed Blaize, in astonishment.  “Henceforth, I will drink nothing else.  I like the remedy amazingly.”

“It must be taken in moderation,” said the doctor:  “otherwise it is as dangerous as too much physic.”

“I have a boddle or doo of de liquor you commend, docdor, in my private cupboard,” observed Josyna.  “Will you dasde id?”

“With great pleasure,” replied Hodges, “and a drop of it will do your son no harm.”

The wine was accordingly produced, and the doctor pronounced it excellent, desiring that a glass might always be brought him when he visited the grocer’s house.

“You may rely upon id, mynheer, as long as my small sdore lasds,” replied Josyna.

Blaize, who, in obedience to the doctor’s commands, had drained a large glass of sack, felt so much inspirited by it, that he ventured, when his mother’s back was turned, to steal a kiss from Patience, and to whisper in her ear, that if he escaped the plague, he would certainly marry her—­an assurance that seemed to give her no slight satisfaction.  His new-born courage, however, was in some degree damped by Leonard, who observed to him in an undertone: 

“You have neglected my injunctions, sirrah, and allowed the person I warned you of to enter the house.  When a fitting season arrives, I will not fail to pay off old scores.”

Blaize would have remonstrated, and asked for some explanation, but the apprentice instantly left him, and set out upon his errand to the Examiner of Health.  Accompanied by his mother, who would not even allow him to say good-night to Patience, the porter then proceeded to his own room, where the old woman, to his infinite regret, carried off his stores of medicine in a basket, which she brought with her for that purpose, and locked the door upon him.