an, he has a deep, inborn admiration for bravery, no
matter whether shown in a Zulu warrior, armed with war club and assagai,
or in a Yankee youth who throws himself between a dusky child of Malta
and a mad dog, to receive the monster's attack.

So he hastens up stairs to the room which John Alexander Craig
temporarily occupies, opens the door, and speedily returns with the
little traveling case in which the young physician keeps many important
medicines, an assortment of ready liniment and lint, with the wonderful
remedial agents known to modern surgery.

To John's surprise, after he has opened the case and started to arrange
the small bandage, it is gently taken from his hands.

"Allow me," says the pretty "doll," as he has at times been forced to
mentally term Lady Ruth, after she has played with his admiration.

"But, do you know--"

"I never told you my uncle was a surgeon, Sir Archibald Gazzam--"

"What! that great man your uncle!" cries the student, with the deep
respect a young M.D. has for a famous practitioner.

"Yes; and more than once I have assisted him in some simple case at the
house. He gave me credit for a fair amount of nerve."

"Fair amount! Jove! for a girl you have a wonderful quantity. Why, I
believe you'd have faced that brute yourself, if I hadn't gone," he
says, enthusiastically, the others being momentarily at the window to
witness a procession pass the hotel, with the dead dog on a litter.

"No, no, I could not do that; but, Doctor Chicago, was that what sent
you out to meet that awful beast?"

Her head is bent over her work, so that the intense blush remains
unseen, but it fades away at his cool reply.

"Oh, no; quite another thing! I told you I never considered myself a
coward, and when I saw that dear little child apparently doomed to a
terrible death, I could see the eyes of one I revere looking at me, and
though death were sure I could not refrain."

He says this quietly and earnestly, yet without an apparent desire to
arouse any feelings of chagrin on her side.

Lady Ruth bites her lips, but her hands are steady, and the touch is
exceedingly gentle as she binds up the ugly red mark which he has
inflicted on himself with what she is disposed to term Spartan-like
courage.

"There; it is done, doctor."

"And neatly done, too," says Aunt Gwen, with a nod and a look of pride.

"I thank you sincerely, Lady Ruth."

"Ah! you are a thousand times welcome. There is not a woman