“Miss Darley,” said Silas Peckham, “the’ ’s a message from Squire Venner’s that his daughter wants you down at the mansion-house to see her.  She’s got a fever, so they inform me.  If it’s any kind of ketchin’ fever, of course you won’t think of goin’ near the mansion-house.  If Doctor Kittredge says it’s safe, perfec’ly safe, I can’t object to your goin’, on sech conditions as seem to be fair to all’ concerned.  You will give up your pay for the whole time you are absent,—­portions of days to be caounted as whole days.  You will be charged with board the same as if you eat your victuals with the household.  The victuals are of no use after they’re cooked but to be eat, and your bein’ away is no savin’ to our folks.  I shall charge you a reasonable compensation for the demage to the school by the absence of a teacher.  If Miss Crabs undertakes any dooties belongin’ to your department of instruction, she will look to you for sech pecooniary considerations as you may agree upon between you.  On these conditions I am willin’ to give my consent to your temporary absence from the post of dooty.  I will step down to Doctor Kittredge’s myself, and make inquiries as to the natur’ of the complaint.”

Mr. Peckham took up a rusty and very narrow-brimmed hat, which he cocked upon one side of his head, with an air peculiar to the rural gentry.  It was the hour when the Doctor expected to be in his office, unless he had some special call which kept him from home.

He found the Reverend Chauncy Fairweather just taking leave of the Doctor.  His hand was on the pit of his stomach, and his countenance was expressive of inward uneasiness.

“Shake it before using,” said the Doctor; “and the sooner you make up your mind to speak right out, the better it will be for your digestion.”

“Oh, Mr. Peckham!  Walk in, Mr. Peckham!  Nobody sick up at the school, I hope?”

“The haalth of the school is fust-rate,” replied Mr. Peckham.  “The sitooation is uncommonly favorable to saloobrity.” (These last words were from the Annual Report of the past year.) “Providence has spared our female youth in a remarkable measure.  I’ve come with reference to another consideration.  Dr. Kittredge, is there any ketchin’ complaint goin’ about in the village?”

“Well, yes,” said the Doctor, “I should say there was something of that sort.  Measles.  Mumps.  And Sin,—­that’s always catching.”

The old Doctor’s eye twinkled; once in a while he had his little touch of humor.

Silas Peckham slanted his eye up suspiciously at the Doctor, as if he was getting some kind of advantage over him.  That is the way people of his constitution are apt to take a bit of pleasantry.

“I don’t mean sech things, Doctor; I mean fevers.  Is there any ketchin’ fevers—­bilious, or nervous, or typus, or whatever you call ’em—­now goin’ round this village?  That’s what I want to ascertain, if there’s no impropriety.”