eful tone
the northern Irishman never scruples to employ when he thinks he has
just cause of complaint.

"It's na the way to heal folk to keep them waitin' twa hours at a closed
door," said another.

"I'se warrant he's gleb eneuch to call for his siller when it's due to
him," said a third.

"My gran'mither is just gane hame; she would na bide any longer for yer
comin'," said a pert-looking girl, with a saucy toss of her head.

"It's na honest to take people's money and gie naething for it," said an
old white-haired man on crutches; "and I 'll just bring it before the
board."

Layton turned an angry look over the crowd, but never uttered a word.
Pride alone would have prevented him from answering them, had he not the
deeper motive that in his conflict with himself he took little heed of
what they said.

"Where's the key, Sandy?" cried he, impatiently, to an old cripple who
assisted him in the common work of the dispensary.

The man came close and whispered something secretly in his ear.

"And carried the key away, do you say?" asked Layton, eagerly.

"Just so, sir. There was anither wi' him,--a stranger,--and he was mair
angry than his rev'rance, and said, 'What can ye expec'? Is it like that
a man o' his habits could be entrusted with such a charge as this?"

"And Dr. Millar--what did he reply?"

"Na much; he just shook his head this way, and muttered, 'I hoped for
better,--I hoped for better!' I dinna think they 'd have taken away the
key, but that old Jonas Graham kem up at the time, and said, 'It's mair
than a month since we seen him'--yourself he meant--'down here, and them
as has the strength for it would rather gae all the gait to Coleraine
than tak their chance o' him.' For a' that," said Sandy, "I opened
the dispensary door, and was sarvin' out salts and the like, when the
stranger said, 'Is it to a cretur like that the people are to trust
their health? Just turn the key in the door, Millar, and you'll
certainly save some one from being poisoned this morning.' And so
he did, and here we are." And poor Sandy turned a rueful look on the
surrounders as he finished.

"I can't cure you as kings used to cure the evil, long ago, by royal
touch, good people," said Layton, mockingly; "and your guardians, or
governors, or whatever they call themselves, have shut me out of my own
premises. I am a priest cut off from his temple."

"I 'm na come here to ask for charity," said a stout old fellow, who
stood al