had been completed, the surgeon exclaimed, 'There's Dr. May's step,'
and Dickie at once sat up, as his grandfather hurried in, nearly as
pale as the boy himself. 'O, grandpapa, never mind, it is almost well
now; and has Aunt Daisy got her hat?'

'What is it, my dear? what have you been doing?' said the Doctor,
looking in amazement from the boy to Leonard, who was covered with
blood. 'They told me you had fallen off the Minster tower!'

'Yes I did,' said Dickie; 'I reached after Aunt Daisy's hat, but I fell
on the roof, and I was sliding, sliding down to the wall, but there was
a window, and the glass broke and cut me, but I got my feet against the
bottom of it, and held on by the iron bar, till Leonard came and took
me down;' and he lay back on the pillow, quiet and exhausted, but
bright-eyed and attentive as ever, listening to Leonard's equally brief
version of the adventure.

'Didn't he save my life, grandpapa?' said the boy, at the close.

'Twice over, you may say,' added the surgeon, and his words as to the
nature of the injury manifested that all had depended on the immediate
stoppage of the haemorrhage. With so young a child, delay from
indecision or want of resource would probably have been fatal.

'There would have been no doing anything, if this little man had not
been so good and sensible,' said Leonard, leaning over him.

'And I did not cry. You will tell papa I did not cry,' said Dickie,
eagerly, but only half gratified by such girlish treatment as that
agitated kiss of his grandfather, after being a little bit of a hero;
but then Dickie's wondering eyes really beheld such another kiss
bestowed over his head upon Leonard, and quite thought there were tears
on grandpapa's cheeks. Perhaps old gentlemen could do what was
childish in little boys.

Dickie was to be transported home. He wished to be carried by Leonard,
but the brougham was at the door, and he had to content himself with
being laid on the seat, with his friend to watch over him, the Doctor
pointing out that Leonard was a savage spectacle for the eyes of
Stoneborough, and hurrying home by the short cut. Ethel met him in
extreme alarm. Gertrude's half-restored senses had been totally
scattered by the sight of the crimson traces on the spot of Leonard's
operations, and she had been left to Mary's care; while Ethel and
Aubrey had hastened home, and not finding any one there, the latter had
dashed off to Bankside, whilst Ethel waited, a