regardless of others, as their way was, when
the colonel bluntly asked for a song.

"Come, Billy," said the Doctor; "don't
be making a fuss about your little gifts, and
all because a travelling manager offered you
ten shillings a week to sing between the
acts. Give them My Own, my Sweet, without
more fuss."

The clergyman at once did as he was
requested: and in the sweetest, richest
tenor, gave out the love song that was
called for. The tenderness, the sympathy
he threw into the ditty, quite went to
the hearts of the honest soldiers. They
listened, enchanted—the colonel beating
time, the Doctor looking from one face
to the other, with an air of genuine delight
and pride. Any stranger entering the
room would have said that this was a
simple, gentle-hearted clergyman,
overflowing with sweetness and piety. A roar
of applause came at the conclusion of the
song, one of genuine delight. There must
be another. Black Eyed Susan followed.
It was thus introduced by the Doctor, with
feeling:

"If his bishop only heard him sing
that, he'd literally force a living on him
before he went to bed. But the pity is, he
won't listen to him, on any terms. There's
tyranny in the church for you! A man
with those talents, having to go on prosing
to the bumpkins here! That man, sir, is
cut out for a deanery!"

The story of William's love was then given
to the delight of all. Then Mr. Webber was
induced to give some of his comic repertoire,
and in a moment had a napkin
tied round his head in a most grotesque
manner. But though the Doctor roared and
"choked" with enjoyment, the soldiers,
much to their credit, did not seem to relish
the performance so much as the serious
effusions. Colonel Bouchier drank his
health, and said gravely, "I'm sure this is
capital; but I don't follow it as well as the
serious things." Accordingly a return was
made to that line, and Mr. Webber sang
several more pathetic songs, until the whole
party was brought into a grave and serious
frame of mind.

At last they broke up, after a very pleasant,
friendly sort of evening. The Doctor
saw his friend home, having just tripped
up "to have a look at his poor patient."

"We'll take care of you, my dear boy.
Mrs. Harper's is the very place—built,
taken, and furnished for him; a little
garden behind, with an arbour away from
the noise of the carts, and all that. I
assure you, we can't be too careful with
anything in the family, you know."

It was two o'clock when the Doctor got
home. Mrs. Findlater had such confidence
in her husband's gifts, that she did not
need to be assured:

"My dear, I laid the first stone this
night. There'll be a husband for Polly
living next door to you to-morrow."

CHAPTER XIV. AT THE BAND.

NOTWITHSTANDING his carouse of the night
before, the Doctor was up at eight, and
paid a visit, first to his patient, then to
Mrs. Harper. This lady was of the Doctor's
party, and devoted to him. Her apartments
had all the attractions he had
described in such glowing terms, the garden,
&c., and by the Doctor's directions some
few extra articles of comfort and luxury
were purchased and brought in, the sums
for which he himself advanced. The young
man was better in the morning, and
towards evening was carried down to his
new quarters, and established there.
Though the houses did not join, the
gardens nearly did, and the Doctor could
thus "slip round" unostentatiously and
wait on his patient.

At breakfast that morning the Doctor
was "bright as a bridegroom" among his
family. "Polly, my pettikens," he said,
"last night I said you should have your
pick of these fellows; and it goes against
my heart to part with you to any of the
lot. Now here I'll read you out all their
passports." And the Doctor, in his own
humorous way, proceeded to sketch off the
officers he had met the night before, with
such details of their condition, prospects,
fortunes, as he had been able to pick up.
He then described the arrangement he
had made about young Cecil Leader,
"That's, of course, merely a little job for
poor papa to make a little money out of in
a professional way. I needn't tell you,
dears, that we might as well hope for a
match with the Prince of Wales himself;
we might just as well ask government for
a peerage. No; it's all been planned out
for him already by his august mamma.
But is that a reason why we shouldn't be
civil and Samaritan-like to the poor sick
boy? So now, dears, I rely on your being
sisterly and kindly in your own nice way."

The sisters, who were really innocent
and natural, in spite of the strange
matrimonial doctrines they had been brought
up in, at once accepted this view, and both
determined that this ewe lamb should be