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 CHAPTER XIV.

IN WHICH THE CAPTAIN'S WIT BECOMES A RIVAL OF MY OWN.

On the fateful morrow the frost still held, and gave no sign of yielding. The Doctor rode over towards noon to attend the Captain's leg. When he left the library I took his professional opinion on both that member and its owner.

"Doing nicely, very nicely," says the Doctor. "Nor are the injuries as serious as we did at first suppose."

"We shall have him about on crutches in a day or two, perhaps?" says I, making a wry face.

"Not this fortnight," says the Doctor, "nay, not this three weeks. This morning now he tried to alter the position of his leg, but it was so stiff and gave the poor man such an excruciating pain that he desisted the instant he began."

"I was trusting, Doctor," I replied, "that the Captain would have his heels up for at least a month. A man of his activity would benefit by rest."

"Well, my dear lady, let us think about it," says the Doctor.

"And I believe, sir," says I, insinuatingly, "that you had better stay to dinner while you do."