“Consterble Rigby!” shouted Toner.

“At your service, sir,” replied the pensioner.

“I’m awful obligated to you, consterble, fer bringin’ in my wayt close.”

“Do not speak of it, sir,” replied Mr. Rigby, with a large piece of toast apparently in his mouth; “I am proud to do you a service, sir.”

Ben was a big man, and somewhat erratic in his ways, so the constable retired, and came back in his own garb, which he had carried out with him.  “I think, Miss Hill,” he said, “that Mr. Toner’s clothes are now dry enough for him to wear them with safety.  What do you think, Miss Newcome?”

“Guess we kin take them off now,” answered Serlizer.

“Serlizer,” growled Ben, “you’re an old cat, a desprit spiteful chessacat, to go skylarkin’ on yer own feller as never did yer no harm.  Gerlong with yer!”

Rufus came in for the breakfast things, and deposited Ben’s clothes on the bed.  “It wasn’t Serlizer, Ben, sure; If I was you I’d try the nigger.  Them darkies are always up to tricks.”

Mr. Toner got into his clothes, resolved to have it out with somebody, even if Rufus himself should prove to be the traitor.  When, a few minutes later, Mr. Terry, smoking his morning pipe, foregathered with Ben in the stable yard, and asked him what he was after now, the answer he gave was:  “Lookin’ araound fer somebody to whayul!” to which the veteran replied:  “Bin, my lad, it’s aisy talkin’.”

When the men were out of the kitchen, Mrs. Carruthers and her sister-in-law came in to see the mad woman and her boy.  The boy they knew already, and had always been kind to, giving him toys and other little presents, as well as occasional food and shelter.  They were much taken with the mother’s quiet manners, and, having heard that she had been a milliner, invited her to join them in the workroom.  But, when they unitedly arrived at the door of that apartment, they speedily retired to the parlour, and there engaged in conversation.  Mrs. Du Plessis was upstairs, with the colonel to play propriety, sponging the dominie’s face and hands, and brushing his hair, as if he were her own son.  Every now and again Colonel Morton came up to the bedside, saying:  “Be kind to him, my deah Tehesa, and remembeh that he saved the life of yoah poah sistah Cecilia’s widowah.”  So the stately Spanish lady shook up the wounded man’s pillows, while the colonel put his arm around him and held him up; and then, as he sank back again, she asked.  “Are you strong enough to have Cecile come up and read to you?” Wilkinson, sly dog, as the Captain called him, said it was too much trouble to put Miss Du Plessis to; but his objections were overruled.  Soon a beatific vision came once more on the scene, and Wordsworth was enthroned as the king of poets.  Miss Halbert and Mr. Perrowne were in the garden, and the clergyman had a rose in his button hole which he had not plucked himself.  If he had not been in holy orders, he would have thought