too long for the
comfort of our bodies. Let us away up the valley, where we shall find,
it not indeed a fresh healthful breeze (for the drought lasts on), at
least a cool refreshing down-draught from Carcarrow Moor before the sun
gets up. It is just half-past four o'clock, on a glorious August
morning. We shall have three hours at least before the heavens become
one great Dutch-oven again.

We shall have good company, too, in our walk; for here comes Campbell
fresh from his morning's swim, swinging up the silent street toward
Frank Headley's lodging.

He stops, and tosses a pebble against the window-pane. In a minute or
two Thurnall opens the street-door and slips out to him.

"Ah, Major! Overslept myself at last; that sofa is wonderfully
comfortable. No time to go down and bathe. Ill get my header somewhere
up the stream."

"How is he?"

"He? sleeping like a babe, and getting well as fast as his soul will
allow his body. He has something on his mind. Nothing to be ashamed of,
though, I will warrant; for a purer, nobler fellow I never met."

"When can we move him?"

"Oh, to-morrow, if he will agree. You may all depart and leave me and
the Government man to make out the returns of killed and wounded. We
shall have no more cholera. Eight days without a new case. We shall do
now. I'm glad you are coming up with us."

"I will just see the hounds throw off, and then go back and get
Headley's breakfast."

"No, no! you mustn't, sir: you want a day's play."

"Not half as much as you. And I am in no hunting mood just now. Do you
take your fill of the woods and the streams, and let me see our patient.
I suppose you will be back by noon?"

"Certainly." And the two swing up the street, and out of the town, along
the vale toward Trebooze.

For Trebooze of Trebooze has invited them, and Lord Scoutbush, and
certain others, to come out otter-hunting; and otter-hunting they will
go.

Trebooze has been sorely exercised, during the last fortnight, between
fear of the cholera and desire of calling upon Lord Scoutbush--"as I
ought to do, of course, as one of the gentry round; he's a Whig, of
course, and no more to me than anybody else; but one don't like to let
politics interfere;" by which Trebooze glosses over to himself and
friends the deep Hunkeydom with which he lusteth after a live lord's
acquaintance, and one especially in whom he hopes to find even such a
one as himself.... "Good fellow, I hear he is, too,--good sp