ust, for you are in command. I suppose it will be months before I
am well."

"I'm afraid it will," replied Syd.

"Then you must hold it, as I said."

"Hurrah!" cried Strake, and then screwing up his face--"My word! that's
bad. You're all right, Pan-y-mar. There won't be no rope's-end for you
this week."

"No," said Syd, merrily, "I think he's safe for quite that time."

"And when may I move, doctor?" said Mr Dallas, smiling.

"As soon as you can bear it, sir, I'll have you got out in the morning
to lie in the shade and get the fresh sea-breeze before it grows hot."

"Ah! thank you, my lad," he said, with a longing look. "I'm beginning
to think I would as soon have been a surgeon as what I am."

Syd started and coloured up, as he wondered whether the lieutenant knew
anything about his life at home.

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

The same reply always from the look-out man by the flagstaff; no ship in
sight, and the town of Saint Jacques slumbering in the sun. But there
was so much to do that Syd and Roylance could spare very little time for
thinking.

As soon as the patients had been tended there were a score of matters to
take Syd's attention; but he was well seconded by Roylance, who, to
Terry's disgust, threw himself heart and soul into the work of keeping
the fort as if it were a ship.

The lieutenant progressed wonderfully now that the feverish stage was
over, and one day he said--

"I can't work, Syd, my dear boy, for I am as weak as a baby, and I shall
not interfere in any way, so go on and behave like a man."

Pan forgot to use his sling to such an extent that there could be no
mistake about his wound being in a fair way to heal, and were other
proof needed it was shown in the way in which he tormented his helpless
father. For though the boatswain pooh-poohed the idea of anything much
being the matter with him, it was evident that he suffered a great deal,
though he never winced when his injuries were dressed.

"Serves me right," he used to say. "Arter all my practice, to think o'
me not being able to heave a rope on board a derrylick without chucking
myself arter it. There, don't you worrit about me, sir. Give me a
hextry fig o' tobacco, and a stick or a rope's-end to stir up that young
swab o' mine, and I shall grow fresh bark over all my grazings, and the
broken ribs 'll soon get set. How are you getting on with the boat?"

"Not at all, Strake," replied Syd. "We can't pump her out bec