mistakable doctor's gig approaching, and from it emerged Harold and
Mr. Yolland. I saw now that he was a sturdy, hard-working-looking
young man of seven or eight and twenty, with sandy hair, and an honest,
open, weather-beaten face. He had a rather abrupt manner, but much
more gentleman-like than that of the usual style of young Union
doctors, who are divided between fine words and affectation and
Sawbones roughness.

He said he had come in to enforce on us what he could not get his
patient to believe--that it was madness to take such liberties with
himself, while such serious wounds were so fresh; and certainly Harold
did not seem to suppose a two mile walk more of an exertion than a turn
on the terrace; indeed, but for Mr. Yolland, he would have set off
again after breakfast for the interrupted quest of horses at the fair.
This, however, was forbidden, with a hint about even the strongest
constitution not being able to defy tetanus. This made us all look
grave, and submission being promised, the young doctor took his leave,
saying he would come in the evening and dress the hands again for the
night.

"Why _did_ you go to that fellow?" asked Eustace. "It is the old
doctor who attends _gentlemen_; he is only the partner."

"He is good enough for me," said Harold. "I was right glad to meet
him."

Then it appeared that as Harold was striding into town, half distracted
with the pain of his hands, in the sunrise of that April morning, he
had had the good fortune to meet Mr. Yolland just coming from the
cottage where the poor little boy lay who had been injured by the lion.
The fright and shock had nearly killed the mother, and the young doctor
had been up all night, trying to save her, while on the floor, in a
drunken sleep, lay the father, a navvy, who had expended the money
lavished on the child by the spectators of the accident, in a revel at
the public house. If any were left, it was all in the brute's pocket,
and the only hope of peace was when he should have drunk it up.

Eustace went off to the fair to look at horses, Harold impressing on
him to do nothing final in haste; and I could see that, while proud of
doing anything on his own account, he was almost afraid of the venture
alone. Tired by his sleepless night and morning walk, Harold, when we
went into the hall for Dora's lessons, lay down on the white bear-skin,
let us build a pile of cushions for his head, and thanked us with
"That's nice." I supp