"We'll go directly you are well," Nellie promised. George brought a railway timetable, a pair of compasses, and a map of the British Isles; and delivered a lecture which delighted the old lady so much that she forgot her pangs, and was greatly astonished when the doctor bustled into the room thankful to know he was not too late. "I suppose you want a subscription," said Miss Yard. "I had a telegram saying you were seriously ill, but I have never seen you looking better," replied the doctor. "Yes, I am wonderfully well, thank you. I hope you're the same," said the merry patient. "Oh, doctor!" cried Nellie, entering the apartment. "Miss Yard was eating her breakfast--" "And I swallowed a snake! Do you know I had forgotten all about it!" cried the old lady. Nellie revised this version, and the doctor was professionally compelled to act the pessimist. He advised a little walk in the garden, to complete digestion of the wasps, recommended a stimulant, prescribed a tonic, and promised to call every day until the patient should be in a fair way to recovery. Then he departed, and Miss Yard immediately suffered a relapse brought on entirely by the visit. She was stricken with some mortal disease, and they were hiding the truth from her. She consented to walk round the garden, as it would be for the last time; then, having insisted upon being put to bed, she implored Nellie to tell her the worst; and, when the girl declared it was nothing but a little indigestion, the old lady lost her temper, and said it was very unjust she should have to die of a disease that was not serious. "There's nothing whatever the matter," said Nellie. "Then what's all this fuss about?" asked Miss Yard. "You are making the fuss." "I didn't send for the doctor. And he's coming again tomorrow. It's not measles, and it's not whooping cough, but I believe it's poison. Bessie put poison into the teapot." "Why Bessie?" "I knew she would do something dreadful if she didn't stop growing. And Robert is so short. It must all mean something. He held the teapot while Bessie put in the poison. Nasty bitter stuff it was too! I suppose I must forgive them, though I don't like doing it. Where is George?" "He is packing. He's going away tomorrow." "But he must stay for the funeral!" "There's not going to be a funeral. You know Mr. George must leave us; he has told you so lots of times." "Tell him to come here. I must give him a present. Look in the cupboard and find me something to give George. And pack up all my clothes, for I shan't want them again. Send them to that Bishop who wrote and said he hadn't got any." "I don't think, really, your clothes are suitable for the ladies of the Lonesome Islands," said Nellie.