--"My eyes, don't he run!--who'd have thought the old boy
had so much life in him?" "It ain't the doctor, though; it's another man. I don't know him, Jim,
do you? I wonder how long he has been in the village. I never see him
before." As I was stepping into the coach I heard a voice behind me say, "I
thought it was Dr. Slasher, Bill, didn't you?" "Yes, at first," said another; "he's like him--leastways the clothes
is." "By the way," said the first, "I wonder when the doctor will be ready
for another subject. I suppose poor Jack's cut up long since." "Hush! you fool," said the other. By this time I had taken my seat in the coach, and looking in the
direction of the voices, I recognised my friends of the other night, Tom
and Bill. Off we then started. The coach was full of men I knew as well
as my own father, most of them my customers. I appeared absorbed in my
book, so as not to get entangled in conversation with anyone, for fear
that my voice might betray me. Two men, who appeared to be strangers to each other, began entering into
conversation. "Dreadful business this epidemic, sir," said the younger of the two to
the elder. "Yes, it is indeed," replied the elder; "the young fare the same as the
old, they say, but I am a stranger in the place." "Oh, indeed, sir," said the first speaker; and then added, "Yes,
sir--that's true enough--the young die as soon as the old. Hardly a week
ago died young Jack Hearty, son of old Hearty, as keeps the Headless
Lady--a lad of nineteen, and as hale a young fellow as ever you'd find
in a day's march. He was taken suddenly ill, and died in a very few
days. "Poor young fellow! who'd have thought that he would have gone along
with the rest? He was an only son, too, and they say his father is
devilish down in the mouth about it." "Dear me! dreadful, to be sure," replied the elder. The conversation then changed to various topics, and became general, the
only one not joining in it being myself. I still pored over my book,
appearing not to take an interest in anything that was being said,
although my ears were open to catch every word. "Who's that cove?" I heard one say to his neighbour. "Oi doan't knaw, Oi'm sure," replied the one addressed, being a lusty
farmer. "Oi never see'd un in these parts afore--looks loike a doctor." "Why don't he speak?" said the other. "He won't talk to no one." "Maybe un's too proud," said the former. "I'd like to kick the surly devil," said his companion. "What'll you bet Oi doan't make un speak?" said the countryman. "Bet you a halfpenny you don't get a word out of him," said the first
speaker. "Done," said the farmer, and turning suddenly upon me, accosted me
thus:--

"Oi zay, governor, you bes a doctor, b'aint ye?" I drew myself up with an air of dignity, and said with a frown, and in a
feigned voice: "Did you address _me_, sir?" "Ees," said the bumpkin, unawed by my assumption of dignity; "and Oi
axes ye if ye b'aint a doctor." "Well, sir," I said; "and if I am!" "Ha! ha! ha!" he laughed coarsely. "Oi knowed ye was. Oi thought Oi
knowed the breed. Vell, you doctors has made a pretty harvest of late,
Oi reckon," said the farmer, bluntly. "How so, sir," I asked. "I do not understand you." "Vhy, vith the patients as has died in this here hepidemic," said he. "They must have brought grist to your mill, if Oi'm not mistook." "What epidemic?" I asked, feigning surprise. "I am a stranger in these
parts, and know nothing of the epidemic." "Vhy, ye doan't mane to zay that ye never heard of th' epidemic as all
th' vorld is a talking of," said he. "All the world!" I cried, in astonishment. "All your little village, I
suppose you mean--no, I am entirely ignorant of this malady." "Vell then, doctor," said the boor, "if ye'd only set up in our village,
there's a snug little business going on for the loikes of you." "Humph!" I grunted, not deigning to make other reply. "Yes, indeed, sir," said a man in the opposite corner of the coach,
joining in the conversation, but more respectfully than my friend the
farmer. "I assure you that a doctor's services are very much needed in
these parts. They say the malady is spreading." The last speaker was a man I knew as well as I know my own face in a
looking-glass, and whom I had served to innumerable pints of our
home-brewed ale--a crony of mine, in fact, yet he failed to see through
my disguise. "Dear me!" said I. "I hope it will be nothing very serious. I regret not
being able to make myself useful, as I have several important cases to
attend to a long distance off." "Oh, it has been very bad indeed, sir, hereabouts," said the same man. "Most cases have been fatal. The death that has been most talked of in
the village is that of poor Jack Hearty, a lad of nineteen, as strong
and as good looking a young fellow as any in the village. He was took
bad, as it might be, yesterday, and struck down to-day in the very
flower of his youth." "You don't say so?" said I. "Yes, sir," he resumed; "and I'll be bound to say you wouldn't find a
finer young fellow in all England." "Really!" said I, inwardly feeling flattered. "Ah!" said another, with a sly wink. "I think I could tell you what
hastened Jack's death as much as anything." "What was that?" I asked. "There was a young woman in the case, they say," said the man, whom I
also knew intimately. "Well, sir," said I, with a well-feigned innocence; "and this young
woman----?" "Well, I believe he died pining for her, and folks say as how it was the
hepidemic." "Ah!" I said with a sigh. "That is an epidemic we all catch some time or
other, but most folks get over it, I fancy." "Well, yes," said the man; "most folks, as you say, do, but poor Jack
was very hard hit indeed, sir. I happen to know the young woman, too--as
fine a wench as you'll meet with in the whole kingdom." "Ah! indeed," I said. "They would have been well matched then, had they
married?" "They would indeed, sir," was the reply. "They'd have made a pair as you
wouldn't meet every day. Well, well," he sighed; "he's gone now, poor
fellow, so the wench must look out for someone else." "Did the girl take it much to heart, think you?" said I. "Aye, I'll warrant she did, sir," said he, "though I can't say for
certain, seeing as how her father sent her away from home to get her out
of Jack's way. But she'll have heard all about it by this time. Poor
girl! I am sorry for her. She'll have to wait a long time before she
finds another like Jack." "Perhaps she may never marry," I suggested; "that is if she really loved
him." "Can't say I'm sure, sir. You see the maid is quite young yet, and has
got lots of admirers; what with one and what with another, she may in
time forget Jack and take to someone else," said my friend. "You have heard no rumours as yet, I suppose, of her showing any
partiality towards anyone," I demanded, timidly. "No, sir, I can't say that exactly, but then it is so shortly after
Jack's death, that it isn't likely she would just yet.