her difficult, eh?" he said, reading her thoughts. "Well, I should
say it was somewhat of a large order. But you can play draughts or
cat's-cradle with him, or read, or play the piano. That's the kind of
thing he wants. There's something on his mind, and that's worse than
having a splint on his arm, believe me, Nell."

Nell nodded.

"I thought--that is, I fancied--he looked as if he were in trouble," she
said musingly. "Poor man!"

"Oh, I don't know that he wants your pity," remarked the doctor dryly.
"As a rule, when a man's got something on his mind, he has put it there
himself."

"That does not make it any the better to have," said Nell absently.

"True, Queen Solomon!" he returned banteringly. "There's not much on
your mind, I should imagine?"

Nell laughed, and her frank eyes laughed, too, as she met the quizzical,
admiring gaze of the sharp old eyes.

"What should there be, Doctor Spence?" she responded.

"What, indeed?" he said. "May it be many a day before the black ox
treads on your foot, my dear!"

With a nod, he sent the cob on again, and Nell continued her climb.

Something on his mind! She wondered what it was. Had some one he cared
for died? But if that were so, he would be in mourning. Perhaps he had
lost his money, as her father had done? Well, anyway, she was sorry for
him.

It need scarcely be said that Mrs. Lorton did not permit the interesting
stranger to move from bed to sitting room without a fuss. The most
elaborate preparations were made by Molly, under her mistress'
supervision. The sofa was wheeled to the window, a blanket was warmed
and placed over the sofa, so that the patient might be infolded in it; a
glass of brandy and water was placed on a small table, in case he
should feel faint, and a couple of huge walking sticks were ready for
the support of the patient--as if he had broken his leg as well as his
arm.

"No, remember, please, Eleanor, that there must be no noise; absolute
quiet, Doctor Spence insisted on. He was most emphatic about the
'absolute.' Pull down that blind, Molly; nothing is so trying to an
invalid as a glare of sunlight--and close the window first. There must
be no draft, for a chill in such a case as this might prove fatal.
Fatal! I wonder whether it would be better to light a fire?"

"It is very hot, mamma," ventured Nell, who had viewed the closing of
the window with dismay.

"It may seem hot to you, who are in robust, not to say vulgar, health;
but