much needed sleep, in peace; and a note of information was left at Dr.
Harrison's door next morning, some time before that gentleman was awake.

CHAPTER XXI.

"I know what I have to do to-day," said Faith the next morning. "Mr.
Skip has got the box made, mother, and now I want the stuff to cover
it."

"Well that's ready--in my pantry, child."

Whereupon Reuben offered his services; but all that was given him to do
was to carry up Mr. Linden's breakfast. This was hardly well over when
Dr. Harrison came. He was shewn into the sitting-room, just as Faith
with her arms full of brown moreen came into it also from the pantry.
The doctor was not going to lose a shake of the hand, and waited for
the brown moreen to be deposited on the floor accordingly.

"You are looking more like yourself to-day," he said.

"I will call mother," said Faith. Which she did, leaving the doctor in
company with the brown moreen.

"Mrs. Derrick," said he, speaking by no means without a purpose, "I
have cause of complaint against you! What have you done to allure my
patient down here against orders?"

"He's better here," said Mrs. Derrick with a cool disposing of the
subject. "What did you want to keep him up there for, doctor?"

"Only acted upon a vigorous principle of Mr. Linden's nature,
madam.--If I had ordered him to come, he would have stayed. May I see
him?"

And Mrs. Derrick preceded the doctor up stairs, opened the door of the
room and shut it after him. Mr. Linden was on the couch, but it was
wheeled round by the side of the fire now, for the morning was cool. A
little heap of unopened letters and post despatches lay before him, but
the white paper in his hand seemed not to have come from the heap. As
the doctor entered, this was folded up and transferred to the disabled
hand for safe keeping.

Mr. Linden had that quality (much more common among women than among
men) of looking well in undress; but let no one suppose that I mean the
combination of carelessness and disorder which generally goes by that
name, and which shews (most of all) undress of the mind. I mean simply
that style of dress which Sam Weller might call 'Ease afore
Ceremony;'--in its delicate particularity, Mr. Linden's undress might
have graced a ball-room; and, as I have said, the dark brown wrapper
with its wide sleeves was becoming. Dr. Harrison might easily see that
his patient was not only different from most of the neighbourhood, but
also from mos