lain motionless since some careful hand had arranged it.

“No, ye don’t know me, I reckon. ‘Tain’t likely. Who be ye?” she iterated, still looking unflinchingly in his eyes.

“Hit’s a gentleman who knows Doctah Hoyle, mothah. He sent him. Don’t fret you’se’f,” said the girl soothingly.

“I’m not one of the frettin’ kind,” retorted the mother, never taking her eyes from his face, and again speaking in a weak monotone. “Who be ye?”

“My name is David Thryng, and I am a doctor,” he said quietly.

“Where be ye from?”

“I came from Canada, the country where Doctor Hoyle lives.”