In the first dwelling they come to, a stout fellow is bellowing with colic.

“He will die, Master, of a surety, methinks,” says the timid youth in a whisper.

“Nay, Luke,” the Master answers, “’t is but a dry belly-ache.  Didst thou not mark that he stayed his roaring when I did press hard over the lesser bowels?  Note that he hath not the pulse of them with fevers, and by what Dorcas telleth me there hath been no long shutting up of the vice naturales.  We will steep certain comforting herbs which I will shew thee, and put them in a bag and lay them on his belly.  Likewise he shall have my cordial julep with a portion of this confection which we do call Theriaca Andromachi, which hath juice of poppy in it, and is a great stayer of anguish.  This fellow is at his prayers to-day, but I warrant thee he shall be swearing with the best of them to-morrow.”

They jog along the bridle-path on their horses until they come to another lowly dwelling.  They sit a while with a delicate looking girl in whom the ingenuous youth naturally takes a special interest.  The good physician talks cheerfully with her, asks her a few questions.  Then to her mother:  “Good-wife, Margaret hath somewhat profited, as she telleth, by the goat’s milk she hath taken night and morning.  Do thou pluck a maniple—­that is an handful—­of the plant called Maidenhair, and make a syrup therewith as I have shewed thee.  Let her take a cup full of the same, fasting, before she sleepeth, also before she riseth from her bed.”  And so they leave the house.

“What thinkest thou, Luke, of the maid we have been visiting?” “She seemeth not much ailing, Master, according to my poor judgment.  For she did say she was better.  And she had a red cheek and a bright eye, and she spake of being soon able to walk unto the meeting, and did seem greatly hopeful, but spare of flesh, methought, and her voice something hoarse, as of one that hath a defluxion, with some small coughing from a cold, as she did say.  Speak I not truly, Master, that she will be well speedily?”

“Yea, Luke, I do think she shall be well, and mayhap speedily.  But it is not here with us she shall be well.  For that redness of the cheek is but the sign of the fever which, after the Grecians, we do call the hectical; and that shining of the eyes is but a sickly glazing, and they which do every day get better and likewise thinner and weaker shall find that way leadeth to the church-yard gate.  This is the malady which the ancients did call tubes, or the wasting disease, and some do name the consumption.  A disease whereof most that fall ailing do perish.  This Margaret is not long for earth—­but she knoweth it not, and still hopeth.”

“Why, then, Master, didst thou give her of thy medicine, seeing that her ail is unto death?”

“Thou shalt learn, boy, that they which are sick must have somewhat wherewith to busy their thoughts.  There be some who do give these tabid or consumptives a certain posset made with lime-water and anise and liquorice and raisins of the sun, and there be other some who do give the juice of craw-fishes boiled in barley-water with chicken-broth, but these be toys, as I do think, and ye shall find as good virtue, nay better, in this syrup of the simple called Maidenhair.”