t, and he began to howl.

"Old linen rag, warm water, and a bottle of champagne," shouted Rolfe:
the servants flew.

Rolfe dressed and bandaged the wound for him, and then he felt faint:
the champagne soon set that right; and then he wanted to get drunk,
alleging, as a reason, that he had not been drunk for this two months.

Sir Charles was told of the accident, and was distressed by it, and
also by the cause.

"Rolfe," said he, sorrowfully, "there is a ring-dove's nest on that
tree: she and hers have built there in peace and safety for a hundred
years, and cooed about the place. My unhappy boy was climbing the tree
to take the young, after solemnly promising me he never would: that is
the bitter truth. What shall I do with the young barbarian?"

He sighed, and Lady Bassett echoed the sigh.

Said Rolfe, "The young barbarian, as you call him, has disarmed me: he
plays the fiddle like a civilized angel."

"Oh, Mr. Rolfe!"

"What, you his mother, and not found that out yet? Oh yes, he has a
heaven-born genius for music."

Rolfe then related the musical feats of the urchin.

Sir Charles begged to observe that this talent would go a very little
way toward fitting him to succeed his father and keep up the credit of
an ancient family.

"Dear Charles, Mr. Rolfe knows that; but it is like him to make the
best of things, to encourage us. But what do you think of him, on the
whole, Mr. Rolfe? has Sir Charles more to hope or to fear?"

"Give me another day or two to study him," said Rolfe.

That night there was a loud alarm. Mr. Bassett was running about the
veranda in his night-dress.

They caught him and got him to bed, and Rolfe said it was fever; and,
with the assistance of Sir Charles and a footman, laid him between two
towels steeped in tepid water, then drew blankets tight over him, and,
in short, packed him.

"Ah!" said he, complacently; "I say, give me a drink of moonshine, old
chap."

"I'll give you a bucketful," said Rolfe; then, with the servant's help,
took his little bed and put it close to the window; the moonlight
streamed in on the boy's face, his great black eyes glittered in it. He
was diabolically beautiful. "Kiss me, moonshine," said he; "I like to
wash in you."

Next day he was, apparently, quite well, and certainly ripe for fresh
mischief. Rolfe studied him, and, the evening before he went, gave Sir
Charles and Lady Bassett his opinion, but not with his usual alacrity;
a weight seemed t