Watson." The old man had not picked up the sovereigns
thrown at his feet, neither had he thanked the donors. And on his
countenance there was a sour, querulous, resentful expression.

"Must a man be a beggar because he is run over, or because he is half
blind?" said he, turning his dim, wandering eyes painfully towards
Arthur. "Well, I wish I had my dog!"

"I will supply his place," said Arthur, soothingly. "Come, lean on
me--heavier; that's right. You are not so bad,--eh?"

"Um!--the sovereigns!--it is wicked to leave them in the kennel!"

Arthur smiled. "Here they are, sir."

The old man slid the coins into his pocket, and Arthur continued to
talk, though he got but short answers, and those only in the way of
direction, till at last the old man stopped at the door of a small house
near the churchyard.

After twice ringing the bell, the door was opened by a middle-aged
woman, whose appearance was above that of a common menial; dressed,
somewhat gaily for her years, in a cap seated very far back on a black
touroet, and decorated with red ribands, an apron made out of an Indian
silk handkerchief, a puce-coloured sarcenet gown, black silk stockings,
long gilt earrings, and a watch at her girdle.

"Bless us and save us, sir! What has happened?" exclaimed this worthy
personage, holding up her hands.

"Pish! I am faint: let me in. I don't want your aid any more, sir. Thank
you. Good day!"

Not discouraged by this farewell, the churlish tone of which fell
harmless on the invincibly sweet temper of Arthur, the young man
continued to assist the sufferer along the narrow passage into a little
old-fashioned parlour; and no sooner was the owner deposited on his
worm-eaten leather chair than he fainted away. On reaching the house,
Arthur had sent his servant (who had followed him with the horses)
for the nearest surgeon; and while the woman was still employed, after
taking off the sufferer's cravat, in burning feathers under his nose,
there was heard a sharp rap and a shrill ring. Arthur opened the door,
and admitted a smart little man in nankeen breeches and gaiters. He
bustled into the room.

"What's this--bad accident--um--um! Sad thing, very sad. Open the
window. A glass of water--a towel."

"So--so: I see--I see--no fracture--contusion. Help him off with his
coat. Another chair, ma'am; put up his poor legs. What age is he,
ma'am?--Sixty-eight! Too old to bleed. Thank you. How is it, sir?
Poorly, to be sure will