Gale's cottage.
The sight of Alice was more than ever annoying to the Vicar. Only
you wouldn't have known it. As she grew whiter and weaker he braced
himself, and became more hearty and robust. When he caught her lying
on the sofa he spoke to her in a robust and hearty tone.
"Don't lie there all day, my girl. Get up and go out. What you want is
a good blow on the moor."
"Yes. If I didn't die before I got there," Alice would say, while she
thought, "Serve him right, too, if I did."
And the Vicar would turn from her in disgust. He knew what was the
matter with his daughter Alice.
At dinner time he would pull himself together again, for, after all,
he was her father. He was robust and hearty over the sirloin and the
leg of mutton. He would call for a glass and press into it the red
juice of the meat.
"Don't peak and pine, girl. Drink that. It'll put some blood into
you."
And Alice would refuse to drink it.
Next she refused to drink her milk at eleven. She carried it out to
Essy in the scullery.
"I wish you'd drink my milk for me, Essy. It makes me sick," she said.
"I don't want your milk," said Essy.
"Please--" she implored her.
But Essy was angry. Her face flamed and she banged down the dishes she
was drying. "I sail not drink it. What should I want your milk for?
You can pour it in t' pig's bucket."
And the milk would be left by the scullery window till it turned sour
and Essy poured it into the pig's bucket that stood under the sink.
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