ther end of the hall just as Doctor Lee, a tall, pleasant-looking
grey-haired man, came in from the garden with a basket of his gleanings
from beneath the south wall.

"That meant for me?" he said, staring down at the hat and then at Vane.

"Which I beg your pardon, sir," said the maid, hurriedly. "I was
brushing it, and it flew out of my hand."

"Ah! You should hold it tight," said the doctor, picking up the hat,
and looking at a dint in the crown. "It will require an operation to
remove that depression of the brain-pan on the _dura mater_. I mean on
the lining, eh, Vane?"

"Oh, I can soon put that right," said the boy merrily, as he gave it a
punch with his fist and restored the crown to its smooth dome-like
shape.

"Yes," said the doctor, "but you see we cannot do that with a man who
has a fractured skull. Been out I see?" he continued, looking down at
the lad's discoloured, dust-stained boots.

"Oh, yes, uncle, I was out at six. Glorious morning. Found quite a
basketful of young chanterelles."

"Indeed? What have you done with them?"

"Been fighting Martha to get her to cook them."

"And failed?" said the doctor quietly, as he peered into the basket, and
turned over the soft, downy, red-cheeked peaches he had brought in.

"No, uncle,--won."

"Now, you good people, it's nearly half-past eight. Breakfast--
breakfast. Bring in the ham, Eliza."

"Good-morning, my dear," said the doctor, bending down to kiss the
pleasantly plump elderly lady who had just opened the dining-room door,
and keeping up the fiction of its being their first meeting that
morning.

"Good-morning, dear."

"Come, Vane, my boy," cried the doctor, "breakfast, breakfast. Here's
aunt in one of her furious tempers because you are so late."

"Don't you believe him, my dear," said the lady. "It's too bad. And
really, Thomas, you should not get in the habit of telling such dreadful
fibs even in fun. Had a nice walk, Vane?"

"Yes, aunt, and collected a capital lot of edible fungi."

"The word fungi's enough to make any one feel that they are not edible,
my dear," said Aunt Hannah. "What sort did you get? Not those nasty,
tall, long-legged things you brought before?"

"No, aunt; beautiful golden chanterelles. I wanted to have them cooked
for breakfast."

"And I have told him it would be high treason," said the doctor.
"Martha would give warning."

"No, no, my dear, not quite so bad as that, but leave them to me, and