aring, to know what was the matter.

"Light the back kitchen fire," said my father.

"No," said Doctor Chowne, "put some wood and charcoal ready, and fetch a
dozen bricks out of the yard."

"Is Master Sep ill?" cried Kicksey. "Oh, no: there he is. I was
quite--"

"There, be quick," said my father; "and if anybody comes, go to the gate
and say I'm busy."

Kicksey stared at us all, with her eyes seeming to stand out of her head
like a lobster's, she was so astounded at this curious proceeding, but
she said nothing and hurried out.

And here I ought to say that her name was Ellen Levan, only, when I was
a tiny little fellow after my mother died, she used to nurse me, and in
my childish prattle I somehow got in the habit of calling her Kicksey,
and the name became so fixed that my father never spoke of her as Ellen;
while our Sam, who was an amphibious being, half fisherman, half
gardener, with a mortal hatred of Jonas Uggleston's Bill Binnacle, and
the doctor's man, always called her Missers Kicksey and nothing else.

"Now, then, Duncan, are we to do this together, or is--"

He made a sign towards me.

"Let him stop and help," said my father. "I can trust Sep when I've
told him not to speak. But can you stop? I understood you to say that
you were going to see a couple of patients."

"Only old Mrs Ransom at the Hall, and Farmer Dikeby's wife. The old
woman's got nothing the matter but ninety-one, and as for Mistress
Dikeby, she has had too much physic as it is, and if I go she won't be
happy till I give her some more, which she will be far better without.
No: I am going to stay and see this through."

"I shall be very glad."

"And so shall I, Duncan. I said you were an idiot to buy that Gap, and
I told you so; but no one will be better pleased than I shall if it
turns out well."

He held out his hand and my father took it without a word.

"Now, then," said the doctor, "let's see the stuff."

My father opened the corner cupboard and took out the pieces of rock,
and Doctor Chowne put on his glasses and examined them carefully,
frowning severely all the time and without a word.

"Do you think it _is_ tin?" said my father at last.

"No, sir, I don't," said Doctor Chowne, throwing down one of the pieces
in an ill-humoured way. "I'll take my oath it isn't."

"Oh!" ejaculated my father in a disappointed tone; "but are you sure?"

"Sure, sir? Yes. I'm not clever, and I'm better at gunshot wounds and