nes can do your father no good. But I
suppose you must have some. He's no physician, therefore there's no fee.
He'll send a bill--it can't be much. You understand. And now, God bless
you."

Dr. Morgan was off. But as he paid the landlady his bill, he said
considerately, "The poor people up stairs can pay you, but not that
doctor--and he's of no use. Be kind to the little girl, and get the
doctor to tell his patient (quietly, of course) to write to his
friends--soon--you understand. Somebody must take charge of the poor
child. And stop--hold your hand; take care--these globules for the
little girl when her father dies--(here the Doctor muttered to himself,
'grief;--_aconite_')--and if she cries too much afterwards--these (don't
mistake.) Tears:--_caustic_!"

"Come, sir," cried the coachman.

"Coming;--tears--_caustic_," repeated the homoeopathist, pulling out
his handkerchief and his phial-book together as he got into the coach;
and he hastily swallowed his anti-lachrymal.

CHAPTER XIV.

Richard Avenal was in a state of great nervous excitement. He proposed
to give an entertainment of a kind wholly new to the experience of
Screwstown. Mrs. M'Catchley had described with much eloquence the
_Dejeunes dansants_ of her fashionable friends residing in the elegant
suburbs of Wimbledon and Fulham. She declared that nothing was so
agreeable. She had even said point-blank to Mr. Avenel, "Why don't you
give a _Dejeune dansant_?" And, therewith, a _Dejeune dansant_ Mr.
Avenel resolved to give.

The day was fixed, and Mr. Avenel entered into all the requisite
preparations with the energy of a man and the providence of a woman.

One morning as he stood musing on the lawn, irresolute as to the best
site for the tents, Leonard came up to him with an open letter in his
hand.

"My dear uncle," said he, softly.

"Ha!" exclaimed Mr. Avenel, with a start. "Ha--well--what now?"

"I have just received a letter from Mr. Dale. He tells me that my poor
mother is very restless and uneasy, because he cannot assure her that he
has heard from me; and his letter requires an answer. Indeed, I shall
seem very ungrateful to him--to all--if I do not write."

Richard Avenel's brows met. He uttered an impatient "pish!" and turned
away. Then coming back, he fixed his clear hawk-like eye on Leonard's
ingenuous countenance, linked his arm in his nephew's, and drew him into
the shrubbery.

"Well, Leonard," said he, after a pause, "it is time t