The ladies of the Torriswood party retired for the night almost immediately on their arrival there, but the gentlemen lingered a little in the room used by Dr. Percival as his office. There was some cheerful chat over the events of the day in which, however, Frank Dinsmore took no part. He sat in moody silence, seeming scarcely to hear what the others were saying.

"What's the matter with you, Frank?" queried the doctor at length.
"Didn't things go off to suit you to-day?"

"Well enough," grumbled Frank, "except that I don't seem to be considered as worthy as my brother is of being taken into—a certain family really no better than my own, unless as regards wealth."

"Oh, ho! so that's the way the land lies! It's Grace Raymond you're after, eh? And she won't consent?"

"Her father won't. I must not say a word to her on the subject."

"And he is right, Frank," returned the doctor gravely. "She is far too young and too delicate to begin with such things. Art would tell you that in a moment if you should ask him. My opinion as a physician is that marriage now would be likely to kill her within a year; or, if she lived, make her an invalid for life."

"I'd be willing to let marriage wait if I might only speak and win her promise; but no, I'm positively forbidden to say a word."

"You would gain nothing by it if you did," said Chester. "She is devoted to her father and hasn't the least idea of falling in love with any other man."

"Ridiculous!" growled Frank. "Well, things being as they are, I'll not tarry long in this part of the country. I'll go back and attend to the business of our clients, and you, Chester, can stay on here with your fiancÉe and her family, and perhaps gather up a larger amount of health and strength."

"Don't be in a hurry about leaving us, Frank," said Dick cordially. "Maud has been calculating on at least a few days more of your good company; and there's no telling when you may find it convenient to pay us another visit."

"Thanks, Dick; you are hospitality itself; and this is a lovely home you have secured, for yourself and Maud. I'll sleep on the question of the time of departure. And now good-night and pleasant dreams. I hope none of your patients will call you out before sunrise."

And with that they separated, each to seek his own sleeping apartment.

For some hours all was darkness and silence within and without the house. Then the doctor was awakened by the ringing of his night bell.

"What is wanted?" he asked, going to the open window.

"You, doctah, fast as you kin git dar, down to Lamont—ole Massa
Gest's place. Leetle Miss Nellie she got a fit."

"Indeed! I am very sorry to hear it. I'll be there as soon as possible," and turning from the window the doctor rang for his servant, ordered horses saddled and brought to a side door, then hurried on his clothes, explaining matters to the now awakened Maud as he did so—gathered up the remedies likely to be needed, and hastened away.

Directing his servant to keep close in his rear he rode rapidly in the direction of the place named by the messenger. He found the child very ill and not fit to be left by him until early morning.

It was in the darkest hour, just before day, that he started for home again. All went well till he was within a few rods of home, but then his horse—a rather wild young animal—took fright at the hoot of an owl in a tree close at hand, reared suddenly and threw him violently to the ground, then rushed away in the direction of his stable.

"Oh, doctah, sah, is you bad hurted?" queried the servant man, hastily alighting and coming to his master's side.

"Pretty badly, I'm afraid, Pete," groaned the doctor. "Help me to the house, and then you must ride over to Viamede as fast as you can, wake up Dr. Harold Travilla and ask him to come to me immediately to set some broken bones. Take one of the other horses with you for him to ride. Ah," as he attempted to rise, "I'm hardly able to walk, Pete; you will have to pretty nearly carry me to the house."

"I kin do dat, doctah; Ise a strong-built nigger; jes lemme tote you 'long like de mammies do de leetle darkies."

And with that Pete lifted Dr. Percival in his arms carried him to the house and on up to his own sleeping room, where he laid him gently down upon his bed in an almost fainting condition.

Maud was greatly alarmed, and bade Pete hasten with all speed for one or another of the doctor cousins.

"Harold, Harold!" groaned the sufferer, "he is older than Herbert and nearer than Art, who is at the Parsonage. And he can bring Herbert with him should he see fit."

Pete, alarmed at the condition of his master, to whom he had become strongly attached, made all the haste he could to bring the needed help; but the sun was already above the tree tops when he reached Viamede.

The first person he saw there was Captain Raymond, who had just stepped out upon the veranda.

"Morning, sah! is you uns one ob de doctahs?" he queried in anxious tones, as he reined in his horse at the foot of the veranda steps.

"No," replied the captain; "but there are doctors in the house. You are from Torriswood, I think. Is any one ill there?"

"Massa doctah, he's 'most killed! Horse frowed him. Please, sah, where de doctahs? I'se in pow'ful big hurry to git dem dere fore——"

"Here," called the voice of Harold from an upper window; "is it I that am wanted? I'll be down there in five minutes or less."

"Yes, I think it is you, and probably Herbert also, who are wanted in all haste at Torriswood," answered Captain Raymond, his voice betraying both anxiety and alarm. "It seems Dick has met with a serious accident and has sent for one or both of you."

"Yes," replied Herbert, speaking as Harold had from the window, "we will both go to him as speedily as possible and do what we can for his relief. Please, captain, order another horse saddled and brought round immediately."

The captain at once complied with the request, and in a very few minutes both doctors were riding briskly toward Torriswood. They found their patient in much pain from a dislocated shoulder and some broken bones; all of which they proceeded to set as promptly as possible. But there were symptoms of some internal injury which occasioned more alarm than the displacement and fracture of the bones. They held a consultation outside of the sick room.

"I think we should have Cousin Arthur here," said Harold. "'In multitude of counsellors is safety,' Solomon tells us, and Art excels us both in wisdom and experience."

"Certainly," responded Herbert; "let us summon him at once. I am glad indeed that he is still within reach."

"As I am. I will speak to Maud and have him sent for immediately."

A messenger was promptly despatched to the Parsonage and returned shortly, bringing Dr. Conly with him. Another examination and consultation followed and Dr. Percival, who had become slightly delirious, was pronounced in a critical condition; yet the physicians, though anxious, by no means despaired of his ultimate recovery.

The news of the accident had by this time reached all of the connection in that neighborhood, and silent petitions on his behalf were going up from many hearts. On behalf of his young wife also, for poor Maud seemed well-nigh distracted with grief and the fear of the bereavement that threatened her.

Mrs. Embury, too, was greatly distressed, for Dick and she had been all their lives a devotedly attached brother and sister. No day now passed in which she did not visit Torriswood that she might catch a sight of his dear face and learn as far as possible his exact state; though neither her nursing nor that of other loving relatives was needed—the doctors and an old negress, skilled in that line of work, doing all that could be done for his relief and comfort.

Mrs. Betty Norton, his half-sister, was scarcely less pained and anxious; as indeed were Maud's brothers and all the relatives in that region.

It was from her father Lucilla first heard of the accident—when she joined him on the veranda at Viamede directly after the departure of the doctors and Pete for Torriswood.

"Oh, father," she exclaimed, "I do hope he is not seriously injured! Poor Maud! She must be sorely distressed, for he has proved such a good, kind husband, and she almost idolizes him."

"Yes, I feel deeply for her as well as for him. We will pray for them both, asking that if it be consistent with the will of God, he may be speedily restored to perfect health and strength."

"Yes, papa; what a comfort it is that we may cast upon the Lord all our care for ourselves and others!"

"It is indeed! I have found it so in many a sore trial sent to myself or to some one dear to me. I am glad for Maud that she has her brothers with her now."

"I too, papa, and I suppose Chester will stay with her to-day."

"Most likely; and my daughter must not feel hurt should he not show himself here at his usual early hour, or even at all to-day."

"I'll try not, papa. I am sure it would be very selfish in me to grudge poor dear Maud any show of sympathy or any comfort she might receive from him—her own dear eldest brother."

"Yes, so I think," said her father, "and I should not expect it of any one of my daughters."

Chester came at length, some hours later than his wont, and looking grave and troubled. In answer to inquiries, "Yes, poor Dick is certainly badly hurt," he said, "and Maud well-nigh distracted with grief and anxiety. She is a most devoted wife and considers him her all."

"But the case is not thought to be hopeless?" Mr. Dinsmore said inquiringly.

"No, not exactly that, but the doctors are not yet able to decide just what the internal injury may be."

"And while there is life there is hope," said Grandma Elsie in determinately cheerful tones. "It is certainly in his favor that he is a strong, healthy man, in the prime of life."

"And still more that he is a Christian man; therefore ready for any event," added her father.

"And so loved and useful a man that we may well unite in prayer for his recovery, if consistent with the will of God," said Captain Raymond.

"And so we will," said Cousin Ronald. "I feel assured that no one of us will refuse or neglect the performance of that duty."

"And we can plead the promise, 'If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven,'" said Mrs. Dinsmore. "So I have strong hope that dear Dick will be spared to us. He is certainly a much loved and very useful man."

"And Maud must be relieved as far as possible from other cares," remarked Mrs. Travilla. "I shall at once invite my brother and his family here. There is room enough, especially as my two sons are there and will be nearly, if not all, the time while Dick is so ill."

"No, cousin," said Chester, "thank you very much, but Cousin Sue is making herself very useful and could not well be spared. She has undertaken the housekeeping, leaving Maud to devote herself entirely to Dick."

"Oh, that is good and kind in her," was the quick response from several voices.

"And very fortunate it is that she happened to be there, ready for the undertaking," said Mrs. Rose Croly; "and if Dick had to have that accident he couldn't have found a better time for it than now, while there are three good doctors at hand to attend to him."

"True enough," assented Chester. "Things are never so bad but they might be worse."

Days of anxiety and suspense followed, during which Dr. Percival's life seemed trembling in the balance. Drs. Harold and Herbert scarcely left the house and spent much of their time in the sick room, while Dr. Conly made several visits every day, sometimes remaining for hours, and the rest of the relatives and near friends came and went with kind offers and inquiries, doing all in their power to show sympathy, and give help, while carefully avoiding unwelcome intrusion or disturbance of the quiet that brooded over Torriswood and seemed so essential under the circumstances. Nothing was neglected that could be done for the restoration of the loved sufferer, and no one of the many relatives and connections there felt willing to leave the neighborhood while his life hung in the balance.

Chester spent a part of each day with his distressed and anxious sister, and a part with his betrothed, from whom he felt very unwilling to absent himself for even one whole day.

The young people and some of the older ones made little excursions, as before, on the bayou and about the woods and fields, Captain Raymond and Violet usually forming a part of the company; especially if his daughter Grace and Frank Dinsmore were in it.

At other times they gathered upon the veranda or in the parlors and entertained each other with conversation, music, or games of the quiet and innocent kind.

In the meantime many earnest prayers were sent up on behalf of the injured one—the beloved physician—in the closet, in the family worship, and in the sanctuary when they assembled there on the Sabbath day; and many a silent petition as one and another thought of him on his bed of suffering. They prayed in faith, believing that if it were best in the sight of Him who is all-wise and all-powerful and with whom there is no variableness or shadow of turning, their petition would be granted.

And at length so it proved; the fever left him, consciousness and reason were restored, and presently the rejoicing physicians were able to declare the danger past, the recovery certain should nothing occur to cause a relapse.

Then there was great rejoicing among those who were of his kith and kin, and those to whom he was the beloved physician. Then such as were needed at their places of residence presently bade farewell and departed for their homes; Drs. Conly and Herbert Travilla among them, leaving Dr. Harold in sole charge of the invalid.

Those who had come on the Dolphin decided to return on it, though they would linger somewhat longer—no one feeling it a trial to have to delay for days or weeks where they were.

Frank Dinsmore was one of the earliest to leave, and Chester, finding that more Southern climate beneficial to him at that season of the year, was entirely willing to entrust the business of the firm to his brother for a time.

So, relieved of anxiety in regard to Dick and still numerous enough to make a very pleasant party, the time passed swiftly and most agreeably to them—especially to the two affianced pairs and the children; Cousin Ronald and Max now and then entertaining them by the exertion of their ventriloquial powers. The young people from Magnolia Hall were often with them and their presence added zest to the enjoyment of little Elsie and Ned in the fun made by their indulgent ventriloquists. That particular sport was apt to begin unexpectedly to the children, making it a little more difficult to recognize it as the doings of the ventriloquists.

One afternoon, after playing romping games upon the lawn until weary enough to enjoy a quiet rest on the veranda where the older people were, they had hardly seated themselves when they heard a sound of approaching footsteps, then a voice that seemed like that of a little girl, asking, "Dear little ladies and gentlemen, may I sit here with you for a while? I'm lonesome and would be glad of good company, such as I am sure yours must be."

Some of the children, hearing the voice but not able to see the speaker, seemed struck dumb with surprise.

It was Violet who answered, "Oh, yes, little girl. Take this empty chair by me and tell me who you are."

"Oh, madam, I really can't tell you my name," answered the voice, now seeming to come from the empty chair by Violet's side. "It seems an odd thing to happen, but there are folks who do sometimes forget their own name."

"And that is the case with you now, is it?" laughed Violet. "Your voice sounds like that of a girl, but I very much doubt if you belong to our sex."

"Isn't that rather insulting, madam?" asked the voice in an offended tone.

"Oh, I know you're not a girl or a woman either!" cried Ned Raymond gleefully, clapping his hands and laughing with delight. "You're a man, just pretending to be a little girl."

"That is insulting, you rude little chap, and I shall just go away," returned the voice in indignant tones, followed immediately by the sound of footsteps starting from the chair beside Violet and gradually dying away in the distance.

"Why, she went off in a hurry and I couldn't see her at all!" exclaimed one of the young visitors; then, as everybody laughed, "Oh, of course it was Cousin Ronald or Cousin Max!"

"Why, the voice sounded to me like that of a little girl," said
Violet, "and Cousin Ronald and Max are men."

"Of course they are, and could not talk in the sweet tones of my little girl," said a rough masculine voice that seemed to come from the doorway into the hall.

Involuntarily nearly everybody turned to look for the speaker, but he was not to be seen.

"And who are you and your girl?" asked another voice, seeming to speak from the farther end of the veranda.

"People of consequence, whom you should treat with courtesy," answered the other, who seemed to stand in the doorway.

"As we will if you will come forward and show yourselves," laughed Lucilla, putting up her hand as she spoke to drive away a bee that seemed to buzz about her ears.

"Never mind, Lu; its sting won't damage you seriously," said Max, giving her a look of amusement.

"Oh, hark! here come the soldiers again!" exclaimed Elsie Embury, as the notes of a bugle, quickly followed by those of the drum and fife, seemed to come from a distant point on the farther side of the bayou.

"Don't be alarmed, miss; American soldiers don't harm ladies," said the voice from the farther end of the veranda.

"No, I am not at all alarmed," she returned with a look of amusement directed first at Cousin Ronald, then at Max; "not in the least afraid of them."

The music continued for a few minutes, all listening silently to it, then as the last strain died away a voice spoke in tones apparently trembling with affright, "Oh, please somebody hide me! hide me quick! quick! before those troops get here. I'm falsely accused and who knows but they may shoot me down on sight?"

The speaker was not visible, but from the sounds seemed to be on the lawn and very near at hand.

"Oh, run round the house and get the servants to hide you in the kitchen or one of the cellars," cried Ned, not quite able, in the excitement of the moment, to realize that there was not a stranger there who might be really in sore peril.

"Thanks!" returned the voice, and a sound as of some one running swiftly in the prescribed direction accompanied and followed the word.

Then the tramp, tramp, as of soldiers on the march, and the music of the drum and fife seemed to draw nearer and nearer.

"Why, it's real, isn't it?" exclaimed one of the children, jumping up and trying to get a nearer view of the approaching troop.

"Oh, don't be afraid," laughed Grace; "I'm sure they won't hurt us or that poor, frightened man either."

"No," chuckled Ned. "If he went to the kitchen, as I told him to, he'll have plenty of time to hide before they can get here."

"Sure enough, laddie," laughed Cousin Ronald, "they don't appear to be coming on very fast. I hear no more o' their music or their tramp, tramp. Do you?"

"No, sir; and I won't believe they are real live fellows till I see them."

"Well now, Ned," said Lucilla, "I really believe they are very much alive and kindly making a good deal of fun for us."

"Who, who, who?" came at that instant from among the branches of the tree near at hand—or at least seemed to come from there.

"Our two ventriloquist friends," replied Lucilla, gazing up into the tree as if expecting to see and recognize the bird.

"Oh, what was that?" exclaimed one of the little girls, jumping up in affright, as the squeak of a mouse seemed to come from among the folds of her dress.

"Nothing dangerous, my dear," said Mr. Dinsmore, drawing her into the shelter of his arms. "It was no mouse; only a little noise."

"Oh, yes, uncle, I might have known that," she said with a rather hysterical little laugh.

Just then the tramp, tramp was heard again apparently near at hand, at one side of the house, where the troops might be concealed by the trees and shrubs; the music of the drum and fife following the next moment.

"Oh," cried Ned, "won't they catch that fellow who just ran round to the kitchen as I told him to?"

"If they do I hope they won't hurt him," laughed Lucilla.

The music seemed to arouse the anger of several dogs belonging on the place and at that moment they set up a furious barking. The music continued and seemed to come nearer and nearer, the dogs barked more and more furiously; but presently the drum and fife became silent, the dogs ceased barking and all was quiet. But not for long; the voice that had asked for a hiding-place spoke again close at hand.

"Here I am, safe and sound, thanks to the little chap who told me where to hide. The fellows didn't find me and I'm off. But if they come here looking for me, please don't tell which way I've gone. Good-by."

"Wait a minute and tell us who you are before you go," called out Eric
Leland, and from the tree came the owl's "Who, who, who?"

"Who I am?" returned the manlike voice, seeming to speak from a greater distance, "Well, sir, that's for me to know and you to find out."

"Now please tell us which of you it was—Cousin Ronald and Max," said
Ned, looking from one to the other.

"That's for us to know and you to find out, little brother," laughed
Max.

"Papa," said Ned, turning to their father, "I wish you'd order Max to tell."

"Max is of age now and not at present under my orders," replied Captain Raymond, with a humorous look and smile, and just then came the call to the tea table.

Ned was unusually quiet during the meal, gazing scrutinizingly every now and then at his father or Max. When they had returned to the veranda he watched his opportunity and seized upon a moment when he could speak to his brother without being overheard by anyone else.

"Brother Max," he queried, "won't you ever have to obey papa any more?"

"Yes, little brother," returned Max, looking slightly amused, "I consider it my duty to obey papa now whenever it pleases him to give me an order; and that it will be my duty as long as he and I both live."

"And you mean to do it?"

"Yes, indeed."

"So do I," returned Ned with great decision. "And I think all our sisters do too; because the Bible tells us to; and besides papa knows best about everything."

"Very true, Ned; and I hope none of us will ever forget that or fail to obey his orders or wishes or to follow his advice."