(I reason that a brickyard belongs to
Mars), and rammed it with iron crowbars into the rat-runs and buries,
and beneath all the house floors. The Creatures of the Moon hate all
that Mars hath used for his own clean ends. For example--rats bite not
iron.'

'And how did poor stuttering Jack endure it?' said Puck.

'He sweated out his melancholy through his skin, and catched a loose
cough, which I cured with electuaries, according to art. It is
noteworthy, were I speaking among my equals, that the venom of the
plague translated, or turned itself into, and evaporated, or went away
as, a very heavy hoarseness and thickness of the head, throat, and
chest. (Observe from my books which planets govern these portions of
man's body, and your darkness, good people, shall be illuminated--ahem!)
None the less, the plague, _qua_ plague, ceased and took off (for we
only lost three more, and two of 'em had it already on 'em) from the
morning of the day that Mars enlightened me by the Lower Mill.' He
coughed--almost trumpeted--triumphantly.

'It is proved,' he jerked out. 'I say I have proved my contention, which
is, that by Divine Astrology and humble search into the veritable causes
of things--at the proper time--the sons of wisdom may combat even the
plague.'

'H'm!' Puck replied. 'For my own part I hold that a simple soul----'

'Mine?--simple, forsooth?' said Mr. Culpeper.

'A very simple soul, a high courage tempered with sound and stubborn
conceit, is stronger than all the stars in their courses. So I confess
truly that you saved the village, Nick.'

'I stubborn? I stiff-necked? I ascribed all my poor success, under God's
good providence, to Divine Astrology. Not to me the glory! You talk as
that dear weeping ass Jack Marget preached before I went back to my work
in Red Lion House, Spitalfields.

'Oh! Stammering Jack preached, did he? They say he loses his stammer in
the pulpit.'

'And his wits with it. He delivered a most idolatrous discourse when the
plague was stayed. He took for his text: "The wise man that delivered
the city." I could have given him a better, such as: "There is a time
for----"'

'But what made you go to church to hear him?' Puck interrupted. 'Wail
Attersole was your lawfully appointed preacher, and a dull dog he was!'

Mr. Culpeper wriggled uneasily.

'The vulgar,' said he, 'the old crones and--ahem--the children, Alison
and the others, they dragged me to the House of Rimmon by the hand. I
was