ed in my
ear revealed the fact that his interests were by no means confined to
the performance of professional duty. I could not help wondering what
Ross was like. If any reader should be taken suddenly ill while staying
in that town, my advice, formed mainly on negative data, would be to
send for Ross during the acute stage of the malady, and to try Conklin's
treatment in convalescence. Or, better still, call them both in at once,
and then take your choice.

These mental observations were scarcely completed when a turn in the
road brought us in sight of our goal. Will the reader believe me when I
tell him that the goal seemed to have vanished? I could scarcely believe
it myself. Not a soul was to be seen. Stare as I would, no human form,
living or dead, prostrate or upright, wounded or whole, answered to my
gaze. Men, horses, and carts--all were gone! The whole insubstantial
pageant had faded, leaving not a wrack behind.

"This is the place," I said to Conklin; "but the man has disappeared."
For answer, he looked fixedly into the pupil of my left eye, expecting,
no doubt, to find there unmistakable signs of lunacy. "Wait a bit," I
cried, divining his thoughts; "here's somebody who will clear it up."
And I pointed to a cottage-door at which I suddenly espied the old woman
whose handling of the roller-towel had so impressed me. "Where," I
shouted, addressing her, "where is the wounded man?" "Took away," was
the laconic reply. "Took away!" I said; "and who has had the impudence
to take him away?"

"Why," said the old woman, "you hadn't been gone more'n two minutes when
his niece--her as keeps his house--comes driving home in a big cart.
'Hello!' she says, 'blest if that isn't Uncle Fred!' 'Yes,' says one of
'em, 'and got it pretty badly this time, I can tell yer. There's a
gentleman just gone to fetch Conklin.' 'Conklin?' says she. 'I'll
Conklin 'im! Who do you think's going to pay 'im? Not _me_! Let 'im as
fetches 'im pay 'im. 'Ere,' she says, 'some of yer help to put this old
man on the bottom of my cart, and look sharp, or Conklin'll be here in a
minute.' So they shoves the poor old thing on to the floor of the cart
with a sack of 'taters to keep him steady, and Eliza--that's her
name--'its the 'oss with a long stick as she carried instead of a whip,
sets off at full gallop, and was out of sight almost before you could
say so. Somebody else took the old man's pony, and the rest of 'em all
made off as fast as they co