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An' doctor, 'e sat oop wi' 't tree nights roonin', 'e did. 'E didn' so mooch as taak 's cleathes off. Nad Alderson, 'e said, 'e'd navver seen anything like what doctor 'e doon for t' lil' thing." Mrs. Gale's face reddened and she sniffed. "'E's saaved Nad's baaby for 'm, right enoof, Dr. Rawcliffe 'as. But 'e's down wi't hissel, t' poastman says." It was at Gwenda that she gazed.
Gwenda looked up from her book. "No," she said. "He's away, isn't he?" "Away? 'El'll nat get away fer long enoof. 'E's too ill." "Ill?" Alice sent the word out on a terrified breath. Nobody took any notice of her. "T' poastman tell mae," said Mrs. Gale. "From what 'e's 'eerd, 'twas all along o' Nad Alderson's lil baaby up to Morfe. It was took wi' the diptheery a while back.
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