sen, smoked a pipe as he lay, by way of whetting his appetite. Dr.
West entered without ceremony.

"My stars!" uttered John, when he could believe his eyes. "It's never
you, Uncle West! Did you drop from a balloon?"

Dr. West explained. That he had come over for a few hours' sojourn. The
state of his dear daughter Sibylla was giving him considerable
uneasiness, and he had put himself to the expense and inconvenience of a
journey to see her, and judge of her state himself.

That there were a few trifling inaccuracies in this statement, inasmuch
as that his daughter's state had had nothing to do with the doctor's
journey, was of little consequence. It was all one to John Massingbird.
He made a hasty toilette, and invited the doctor to take some breakfast.

Dr. West was nothing loth. He had breakfasted at home; but a breakfast
more or less was nothing to Dr. West. He sat down to the table, and took
a choice morsel of boned chicken on his plate.

"John, I have come up to talk to you about Verner's Pride."

"What about it?" asked John, speaking with his mouth full of devilled
kidneys.

"The place is Lionel Verner's."

"How d'ye make out that?" asked John.

"That codicil revoked the will which left the estate to you. It gave it
to him."

"But the codicil vanished," answered John.

"True. I was present at the consternation it excited. It disappeared in
some unaccountably mysterious way; but there's no doubt that Mr. Verner
died, believing the estate would go in its direct line--to Lionel. In
fact, I know he did. Therefore you ought to act as though the codicil
were in existence, and resign the estate to Lionel Verner."

The recommendation excessively tickled the fancy of John Massingbird. It
set him laughing for five minutes.

"In short, you never ought to have attempted to enter upon it,"
continued Dr. West. "Will you resign it to him?"

"Uncle West, you'll kill me with laughter, if you joke like that," was
the reply.

"I have little doubt that the codicil is still in existence," urged Dr.
West. "I remember my impression at the time was that it was only
mislaid, temporarily lost. If that codicil turned up, you would be
obliged to quit."

"So I should," said John, with equanimity. "Let Lionel Verner produce
it, and I'll vacate the next hour. _That_ will never turn up: don't you
fret yourself, Uncle West."

"Will you not resign it to him?"

"No, that I won't. Verner's Pride is mine by law. I should be a