writing work

It really was most unfortunate. ^ggy had a temperature of nearly a hundred, and a pain in her side, and Mrs. Workington Bancroft knew that it was appendicitis. But there was no one whom she could send for *-he doctor. James had gone with the jaunting-car to meet her husband who had at last managed to get away for a week's shooting. Adolph, she had sent to the Evershams, only half an hour before, with a note for Lady Eva. The cook could not manage to walk, even if dinner could be served without her. Kate, as usual, was not to be trusted. There remained Miss Craig. "Of course, you must see that Peggy is really ill,*' said she, as the governess came into the room, in answer to her summons. "The diffi- culty is, that there is absolutely no one whom I can send for the doc- tor." Mrs. Workington Bancroft paused; she was always willing that those beneath her should have the privilege of offering the services which it was her right to command. "So, perhaps, Miss Craig," she went on, "you would not mind walking over to Tcbbits' Farm. I hear there is a Liverpool doctor stay- ing there. Of course I know nothing about him, but we must take the risk, and I expect he'll be only too glad to be earning something dur- ing his holiday. It's nearly four miles, I know, and I'd never dream of asking you if it was not that I dread appendicitis so." "Very well," said Miss Craig, "I suppose I must go; but I don't know the way." "Oh you can't miss it," said Mrs. Workington Bancroft, in her anxi- ety temporarily forgiving the obvious unwillingness of her governess' consent. "You follow the road across the moor for two miles, until you come to Redman's Cross. You turn to the left there, and follow a rough path that leads through a larch plantation. And Tebbits' farm lies just below you in the valley." "And take Pontiff with you," she added, as the girl left the room.