bright by
reason of contentment, coupled with a free use of soap and the
jack-towel, there was, nevertheless, a shade of sadness in their looks
and tones. Nothing of the sort, however, appeared on the countenances
of the Rosebud and young Fred Crashington. These gushing little
offshoots of the Red Brigade were too young to realise the danger of
Ned's condition, but they were quite old enough to create an imaginary
fire in the cupboard, which they were wildly endeavouring to extinguish
with a poker for a "branch" and a bucket for a fire-engine, when Mr
Sparks entered.

"Oh! kik, Feddy, kik; put it out kik, or it'll bu'n down all 'e house,"
cried little May, eagerly, as she tossed back a cataract of golden curls
from her flushed countenance, and worked away at the handle of the
bucket with all her might.

"All right!" shouted Fred, who had been sent to play with the Rosebud
that he might be out of the way. "Down with Number 1; that's your sort;
keep 'er goin'; hooray!"

He brought the poker down with an awful whack on the cupboard at this
point, causing the crockery to rattle again.

"Hallo! youngster, mind what you're about," cried Joe, "else there will
be more damage caused by the engine than the fire--not an uncommon
thing, either, in our practice!"

It was at this point that he replied to Mr Sparks's knock.

"Come in, Mr Sparks, you've heard of your poor brother-in-law's
accident, I suppose?"

"Yes, I've just comed from his house with a message. You're wanted to
be there in good time."

"All right, I'll be up to time," said Joe, putting on his coat and cap,
and smiling to his wife, as he added, "It's a queer sort o' thing to do.
We'll be blood-relations, Ned and I, after this. Look after these
youngsters, Molly, else they'll knock your crockery to bits. Good-day.
Mr Sparks."

"Good-day," replied Sparks, as Joe went out. Then, turning to Mrs
Dashwood, "What sort of operation is it they're goin' to perform on
Ned?"

"Did you not hear? It's a very curious one. Ned has lost so much blood
from a deep cut in his leg that the doctors say he can't recover, no
matter how strong his constitution is, unless he gits some blood put
into him, so they're goin' to put some o' my Joe's blood into him."

"What!" exclaimed Sparks, "take blood out o' your husband and put it hot
and livin' into Ned? No, no, I've got a pretty big swallow, but I can't
git _that_ down."

"If you can't swallow it you'll have to bolt