good deal. Sometimes it was Greek or Latin, sometimes whole
chapters of Scripture, either denunciating portions or genealogies
from the First Book of Chronicles, the polysyllabic names pouring
from his mouth whenever he was particularly oppressed or suffering,
so that when Mrs. Woodford had with some difficulty made out what
they were, she concluded that they had been set as tasks of penance.

At other times Peregrine talked as if he absolutely believed himself
in fairyland, accepting a strawberry or cherry as elfin food,
promising a tester in Anne's shoe when she helped to change his
pillow, or conversing in the style of Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, on
intended pranks. Often he fancied himself the lubber fiend resting
at the fire his hairy strength, and watching for cock-crow as the
signal for flinging out-of-doors. It was wonderful how in the grim
and strict Puritanical household he could have imbibed so much fairy
lore, but he must have eagerly assimilated and recollected whatever
he heard, holding them as tidings from his true kith and kin; and,
indeed, when he was running on thus, Mrs. Woodford sometimes felt a
certain awe and chill, as of the preternatural, and could hardly
believe that he belonged to ordinary human nature. Either she or
the Doctor always took the night-watch after the talking mood set
in, for they could not judge of the effect it might have on any of
the servants. Indeed they sometimes doubted whether this were not
the beginning of permanent insanity, as the delusion seemed to
strengthen with symptoms of recovery.

"Then," said Dr. Woodford, "Heaven help the poor lad!"

For sad indeed was the lot in those days of even the most harmless
lunatic.