To make up for the good day, this one was a very bad one with poor Alfred.  There was thunder in the air, and if the sultry heat weighed heavily even on the healthy, no wonder it made him faint and exhausted, disposed to self-pity, and terribly impatient and fretful.  He was provoked by Ellen’s moving about the room, and more provoked by Harold’s whistling as he cleaned out the stable; and on the other hand, Harold was petulant at being checked, and vowed there was no living in the house with Alfred making such a work.  Moreover, Alfred was restless, and wanted something done for him every moment, interrupting Ellen’s work, and calling his mother up from her baking so often for trifles, that she hardly knew how to get through it.

The doctor, Mr. Blunt, came, and he too felt the heat, having spent hours in going his rounds in the closeness and dust.  He was a rough man, and his temper did not always hold out; he told Alfred sharply that he would have no whining, and when the boy moaned and winced more than he would have done on a good day, he punished him by not trying to be tender-handed.  When Mrs. King said, perhaps a little lengthily, how much the boy had suffered that morning, the doctor, wearied out, no doubt, with people’s complaints, cut her short rather rudely, ‘Ay, ay, my good woman, I know all that.’

‘And can nothing be done, Sir, when he feels so sinking and weak?’

‘Sinking—­he must feel sinking—­nothing to do but to bear it,’ said Mr. Blunt gruffly, as he prepared to go.  ‘Don’t keep me now;’ and as Alfred held up his hand, and made some complaint of the tightness of the bandage, he answered impatiently, ’I’ve no time for that, my lad; keep still, and be glad you’ve nothing worse to complain of.’

‘Then you don’t think he is getting any better, Sir?’ said Mrs. King, keeping close to him.  ’I thought he was yesterday, and I wanted to speak to you.  My oldest daughter thought if we could get him away to the sea, and—­’

‘That’s all nonsense,’ said the hurried doctor; ’don’t you spend your money in that way; I tell you nothing ever will do him any good.’

This was at the bottom of the stairs; and Mr. Blunt was off.  He was the cleverest doctor for a good way round, and it was not easy to Mrs. King to secure his attendance.  Her savings and Matilda’s were likely to melt away sadly in paying him, since she was just too well off to be doctored at the parish expense, and he was really a good and upright man, though wanting in softness of manner when he was hurried and teased.  If Mrs. King had known that he was in haste to get to a child with a bad burn, she might have thought him less unkind in the short ungentle way in which he dashed her hopes.  Alas! there had never been much hope; but she feared that Alfred might have heard, and have been shocked.