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Updated: June 4, 2025
"You're a nice sort of ruffian to start any idea at all, aren't you? I thought you always took, and never gave!" He smiled, leaning his handsome head back against the white-washed wall of the little entry where he stood, but said nothing. Matt Peke then took up the parable. "Th' old man be mortal weak an' faint for sure," he said.
Sweet and pungent odours of the field and woodland floated from the basket of herbs as it swung slightly to and fro on its bearer's shoulders, and amid the slowly darkening shadows of evening, a star of sudden silver brilliance sparkled out in the sky. "Yon's the first twinkler," said Peke, seeing it at once, though his gaze was apparently fixed on the ground.
"You are very good to me," he said, as he returned the remainder of the "yerb wine" to its owner. "I wonder why?" Peke took a draught of his mixture before replying. Then corking the bottle, he thrust it in his pocket. "Ye wonders why?" And he uttered a sound between a grunt and a chuckle "Ye may do that! I wonders myself!"
He was far more tired than he knew, and remembering the "yerb wine" which Matt Peke had provided him with, he took a long draught of it, grateful for its reviving warmth and tonic power.
Inside was a beautiful little "Peke," and it was easy to see that Buster was indeed ill. "Who is your doctor?" asked Craig, considering. "Dr. Rae Wilson, a very well-known woman physician." Kennedy nodded recognition of the name. "What does she say?" he asked, observing the dog narrowly. "We haven't told anyone, outside, of it yet," replied Mrs. Blake.
As he thus talked, Helmsley took the bottle from him and tasted its contents. The "yerb wine" was delicious. More grateful to his palate than Chambertin or Clos Vougeot, it warmed and invigorated him, and he took a long draught, Matthew Peke watching him drink it with great satisfaction.
All her night's lodgers had left her save one and he was still soundly sleeping. Bill Bush had risen as early as five and stolen away, Matt Peke had broken his fast with a cup of hot milk and a hunch of dry bread, and shouldering his basket, had started for Crowcombe, where he had several customers for his herbal wares.
"One o' them totterin' old chaps as was in the Light Brigade," answered Peke. "There's no end to 'em. They'se all over every road in the country. All of 'em fought wi' Lord Cardigan, an' all o' 'em's driven to starve by an ungrateful Gov'ment.
She giggled again, and waited to see them begin their meal, then, with a comprehensive roll of her round eyes upon all the company assembled, she retired. The soup she had brought was certainly excellent, strong, invigorating, and tasty enough to have done credit to a rich man's table, and Peke nodded over it with mingled surprise and appreciation.
"Millionaires is gin'rally fools," continued Peke; "they buys all they wants, an' then they aint got nothin' more to live for. They gits into motor-cars an' scours the country, but they never sees it. They never 'ears the birds singin', an' they misses all the flowers. They never smells the vi'lets nor the mayblossom they on'y gits their own petrol stench wi' the flavour o' the dust mixed in.
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