When Robin and I reached the abode of our old friend—in a state, let me add, of almost irrepressible excitement—we found her seated in the old arm-chair by the window, gazing sadly out on the prospect.

 

It was not now the prospect of red brick and water-spout, with a remote distance of chimney—cans and cats, which had crushed the old lady’s spirit in other days—by no means. There was a picturesque little court, with an old pump in the centre to awaken the fancy, and frequent visits from more or less diabolical street-boys, to excite the imagination. Beyond that there was the mews, in which a lively scene of variance between horses and men was enacted from morning till night—a scene which derived much additional charm from the fact that Mrs Willis, being short-sighted, formed fearfully incorrect estimates of men, and beasts, and things in general.

 

“Well, granny, how are you?” said I, seating myself on a stool beside her, and thinking how I should begin.

 

“Pretty griggy—eh?” inquired little Slidder.

 

“Ah! there you are, my dear boys,” said the old lady, who had latterly got to look upon me and my protégé as brothers. “You are always sure to come, whoever fails me.”

 

“Has any one failed you to-day, granny?” I asked.

 

“Yes, Dr McTougall has,” she replied as petulantly as it was possible for her to speak. “I’ve been feeling very low and weak to-day, and sent for him; but I suppose he thinks it’s only imagination. Well, well, perhaps it is,” she added, after a pause, and with a little sigh. “I’m very foolish, no doubt.”

 

“No, granny,” said I, “you’re not foolish,”—(“Contrariwise, wery much the reverse,” interrupted Slidder)—“and I’m glad that I chanced to come in, because, perhaps, I may be able to prescribe for you as well as he.”

 

“Better, dear boy, better”—(“That’s it, cheer up!” from Slidder)—“and it always does me a world of good to see your handsome face.”

 

“Well, granny,” said I, with a flutter at my heart, as I looked up at her thin careworn face, and began to break the ice with caution, “I’ve come—I—there’s a little piece of—of—”

 

“Now then, dig in the spurs, doctor, an’ go at it—neck or nuffin’,” murmured my impatient companion.

 

“What are you saying, Robin?” asked Mrs Willis, with a slightly anxious look. “There’s nothing wrong, I hope?”

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