a great deal stunned, and
the complete recovery of sensation came in the form of pain. Joel Dagge
on this occasion showed himself that most useful of personages, whose
knowledge is of a kind suited to the immediate occasion: he not only
knew perfectly well what was the matter with the horse, how far they
were both from the nearest public-house and from Pennicote Rectory, and
could certify to Rex that his shoulder was only a bit out of joint, but
also offered experienced surgical aid.

"Lord, sir, let me shove it in again for you! I's seen Nash, the
bone-setter, do it, and done it myself for our little Sally twice over.
It's all one and the same, shoulders is. If you'll trusten to me and
tighten your mind up a bit, I'll do it for you in no time."

"Come then, old fellow," said Rex, who could tighten his mind better
than his seat in the saddle. And Joel managed the operation, though not
without considerable expense of pain to his patient, who turned so
pitiably pale while tightening his mind, that Joel remarked, "Ah, sir,
you aren't used to it, that's how it is. I's see lots and lots o'
joints out. I see a man with his eye pushed out once--that was a rum go
as ever I see. You can't have a bit o' fun wi'out such sort o' things.
But it went in again. I's swallowed three teeth mysen, as sure as I'm
alive. Now, sirrey" (this was addressed to Primrose), "come alonk--you
musn't make believe as you can't."

Joel being clearly a low character, it is, happily, not necessary to
say more of him to the refined reader, than that he helped Rex to get
home with as little delay as possible. There was no alternative but to
get home, though all the while he was in anxiety about Gwendolen, and
more miserable in the thought that she, too, might have had an
accident, than in the pain of his own bruises and the annoyance he was
about to cause his father. He comforted himself about her by reflecting
that every one would be anxious to take care of her, and that some
acquaintance would be sure to conduct her home.

Mr. Gascoigne was already at home, and was writing letters in his
study, when he was interrupted by seeing poor Rex come in with a face
which was not the less handsome and ingratiating for being pale and a
little distressed. He was secretly the favorite son, and a young
portrait of the father; who, however, never treated him with any
partiality--rather, with an extra rigor. Mr. Gascoigne having inquired
of Anna, knew that Rex had g