I hope the batch isn't near an end.'
'Yes, indeed, it is, doctor,' said Priscilla; 'but I'll answer
for it the next shall be as good. My pork-pies don't turn out well
by chance.'
'Not as your doctoring does, eh, Kimble?- because folks forget to
take your physic, eh?' said the Squire, who regarded physic and
doctors as many loyal churchmen regard the church and the clergy-
tasting a joke against them when he was in health, but impatiently
eager for their aid when anything was the matter with him. He tapped
his box, and looked round with a triumphant laugh.
'Ah, she has a quick wit, my friend Priscilla has,' said the
doctor, choosing to attribute the epigram to the lady rather than
allow a brother-in-law that advantage over him. 'She saves a little
pepper to sprinkle over her talk- that's the reason why she never puts
too much into her pies. There's my wife now, she never has an answer
at her tongue's end; but if I offend her, she's sure to scarify my
throat with black pepper the next day, or else give me the colic
with watery greens. That's an awful tit-for-tat.' Here the vivacious
doctor made a pathetic grimace.
'Did you ever hear the like?' said Mrs Kimble, laughing above her
double chin with much good-humour, aside to Mrs Crackenthorp, who
blinked and nodded, and seemed to intend a smile, which, by the
correlation of forces, went off in small twitchings and noises.
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