ere old Mr Kennedy was occupied in alternately
heaping unutterable abuse on the head of Peter Mactavish, and imploring
him to advise what was best to be done. But Peter knew not. He could
only make one or two insane proposals to roll Charley about the floor,
and see if _that_ would do him any good; while Harry suggested in
desperation that he should be hung by the heels, and perhaps it would
run out!

Meanwhile the senior clerk seized his hat, with the intention of going
in search of Tom Whyte, and rushed out at the door; which he had no
sooner done than he found himself tightly embraced in the arms of that
worthy, who happened to be entering at the moment, and who, in
consequence of the sudden onset, was pinned up against the wall of the
porch.

"Oh, my buzzum!" exclaimed Tom, laying his hand on his breast; "you've
a'most bu'st me, sir. W'at's wrong, sir?"

"Go for the doctor, Tom, quick! run like the wind. Take the freshest
horse; fly, Tom, Charley's poisoned--laudanum; quick!"

"'Eavens an' 'arth!" ejaculated the groom, wheeling round, and stalking
rapidly off to the stable like a pair of insane compasses; while the
senior clerk returned to the bedroom, where he found Mr Kennedy still
raving, Peter Mactavish still aghast and deadly pale, and Harry
Somerville staring like a maniac at his young friend, as if he expected
every moment to see him explode, although, to all appearance, he was
sleeping soundly, and comfortably too, notwithstanding the noise that
was going on around him. Suddenly Harry's eye rested on the label of
the half-empty phial, and he uttered a loud, prolonged cheer.

"It's only tincture of--"

"Wild cats and furies!" cried Mr Kennedy, turning sharply round and
seizing Harry by the collar, "why d'you kick up such a row, eh?"

"It's only tincture of rhubarb," repeated the boy, disengaging himself
and holding up the phial triumphantly.

"So it is, I declare," exclaimed Mr Kennedy, in a tone that indicated
intense relief of mind; while Peter Mactavish uttered a sigh so deep
that one might suppose a burden of innumerable tons weight had just been
removed from his breast.

Charley had been roused from his slumbers by this last ebullition; but
on being told what had caused it, he turned languidly round on his
pillow and went to sleep again, while his friends departed and left him
to repose.

Tom Whyte failed to find the doctor. The servant told him that her
master had been suddenly called