hall try lodgings in London, near the old hospital, perhaps--and go
and turn over the British Museum library."

"Look you here, Spencer, I have a much better plan. Do you know that
scrap of a house of mine, by the back gate, just big enough for you
and your pipe? Set up your staff there. Ethel will never get her school
built without you."

"Oh! that would be capital!" cried Ethel.

"It would be the best speculation for me. You would pay rent, and the
last old woman never did," continued Dr. May. "A garden the length of
this one--"

"But I say--I want to be near the British Museum."

"Take a season-ticket, and run up once a week."

"I shall teach your boys to smoke!"

"I'll see to that!"

"You have given Cocksmoor one lift," said Ethel, "and it will never go
on without you."

"It is such a nice house!" added the children, in chorus; "it would be
such fun to have you there."

"Daisy will never be able to spare her other doctor," said Margaret,
smiling.

"Run to Mrs. Adams, Tom, and get the key," said Dr. May.

There was a putting on of hats and bonnets, and the whole party walked
down the garden to inspect the house--a matter of curiosity to some--for
it was where the old lady had resided on whom Harry had played so many
tricks, and the subject of many myths hatched between him and George
Larkins.

It was an odd, little narrow slip of a house, four stories, of two rooms
all the way up, each with a large window, with a marked white eyebrow.
Dr. May eagerly pointed out all the conveniences, parlour, museum,
smoking den, while Dr. Spencer listened, and answered doubtfully; and
the children's clamorous anxiety seemed to render him the more silent.

Hector Ernescliffe discovered a jackdaw's nest in the chimney, whereupon
the whole train rushed off to investigate, leaving the two doctors and
Ethel standing together in the empty parlour, Dr. May pressing, Dr.
Spencer raising desultory objections; but so evidently against his own
wishes, that Ethel said, "Now, indeed, you must not disappoint us all."

"No," said Dr. May, "it is a settled thing."

"No, no, thanks, thanks to you all, but it cannot be. Let me go;" and he
spoke with emotion. "You are very kind, but it is not to be thought of."

"Why not?" said Dr. May. "Spencer, stay with me;" and he spoke with a
pleading, almost dependent air. "Why should you go?"

"It is of no use to talk about it. You are very kind, but it will not do
to encumber you with a