me to a full stop, for I was
at the Ugly Leap; and before I knew it I was over."

"Not much of a full stop; I should say a note of exclamation was dashed
in there," remarked Mr. Barlow.

"I don't think I uttered a sound; I think I was too horrified--that is
as girlish, I know, as if I'd screamed!"

"Oh! Oscar, you did scream: 'twas that which told us something was
wrong," put in the interrupting damsel Jenny.

"And no wonder. I'm not sure I shouldn't have screamed myself; and boys
are but mortal, the same as doctors," remarked Mr. Barlow.

"But not nearly so wise," interrupted Jenny again.

"Nor yet so talkative as young ladies; and if present company will
excuse me, I should like some of them to be quiet," said Oscar.

"Well, my boy, after the scream----" prompted Mr. Barlow.

"Well, if I _did_ scream, after that there was a silence and the full
stop, for I fell to the bottom; and when I came to my senses I was
jolting along in a caravan--such jolting, and I full of pain and
dizziness. That was a ride to town, and no mistake--Bulverton, the town
was called, where they took me to a hospital."

"Who?" inquired irrepressible Jenny.

"The gipsies--I was in a gipsy caravan; they were passing the road at
the bottom of the Leap, hurrying away from justice of some sort, I
should say, and, hearing me moan, were humane enough to pick me up out
of my snowy bed, and carry me along with them. By the time they reached
Bulverton I was unconscious, in a high fever, and I don't know what.
They made it all right with the hospital people, somehow, that they had
no hand in bringing me to the state I was in. I was terribly knocked
about--a blow on my head, besides this on my forehead, a broken arm, and
a good shaking generally. 'Twas a wonder I escaped with my life, the
doctors told me, when I came out of my bad turn--you know the dodge, Mr.
Barlow; you all make a miracle of what you do for sick people." Mr.
Barlow shook his fist at him.

"I kept who I was a secret, though, and wouldn't tell my name. I didn't
want to make a fuss here, you know, but on the last morning it all came
out. One of the doctors saw your description of me, uncle, and the
police came ferreting me out as well, I believe; and so I'd nothing to
do but throw off my disguise, and come home like a bad penny. I daresay
you'll have a bill, uncle, for sticking-plaster and so on."

"Which I shall be happy to pay, Oscar," said the grave doctor.

This was Oscar's