Mr. Tewson knew the secrets of all hearts within the village radius, also the secrets of all constitutions.  He knew by some occult means who had been “taken bad,” or who had “taken a turn,” and was aware at once when anyone was “sinkin’ fast.”  With such differences of opinion as occasionally arose between the vicar and his churchwardens he was immediately familiar.  The history of the fever among the hop pickers at Dunstan village he had been able to relate in detail from the moment of its outbreak.  It was he who had first dramatically revealed the truth of the action Miss Vanderpoel had taken in the matter, which revelation had aroused such enthusiasm as had filled The Clock Inn to overflowing and given an impetus to the sale of beer.  Tread, it was said, had even made a speech which he had ended with vague but excellent intentions by proposing the joint healths of her ladyship’s sister and the “President of America.”  Mr. Tewson was always glad to see Miss Vanderpoel cross his threshold.  This was not alone because she represented the custom of the Court, which since her arrival had meant large regular orders and large bills promptly paid, but that she brought with her an exotic atmosphere of interest and excitement.

He had mentioned to friends that somehow a talk with her made him feel “set up for the day.”  Betty was not at all sure that he did not prepare and hoard up choice remarks or bits of information as openings to conversation.

This morning he had thrilling news for her and began with it at once.

“Dr. Fenwick at Stornham is very low, miss,” he said.  “He’s very low, you’ll be sorry to hear.  The worry about the fever upset him terrible and his bronchitis took him bad.  He’s an old man, you know.”

Miss Vanderpoel was very sorry to hear it.  It was quite in the natural order of things that she should ask other questions about Dunstan village and the Mount, and she asked several.

The fever was dying out and pale convalescents were sometimes seen in the village or strolling about the park.  His lordship was taking care of the people and doing his best for them until they should be strong enough to return to their homes.

“But he’s very strict about making it plain that it’s you, miss, they have to thank for what he does.”

“That is not quite just,” said Miss Vanderpoel.  “He and Mr. Penzance fought on the field.  I only supplied some of the ammunition.”

“The county doesn’t think of him as it did even a year ago, miss,” said Tewson rather smugly.  “He was very ill thought of then among the gentry.  It’s wonderful the change that’s come about.  If he should fall ill there’ll be a deal of sympathy.”

“I hope there is no question of his falling ill,” said Miss Vanderpoel.

Mr. Tewson lowered his voice confidentially.  This was really his most valuable item of news.

“Well, miss,” he admitted, “I have heard that he’s been looking very bad for a good bit, and it was told me quite private, because the doctors and the vicar don’t want the people to be upset by hearing it—­that for a week he’s not been well enough to make his rounds.”