"Why, where should he be at nine o'clock of a Sabbath morn?" asked Ruth, proceeding, woman-wise, to answer her own question. "He's in th' barn, to be sure, with th' Sunday School. I don't know what the world's coming to, I'm sure. One would have thought my father had enough to do, with two sermons every Sunday, one on week-days, sick visiting, prayer meetings, conferences, a cow, two pigs, a potato patch, a sick son----" "An angel o' a dowter," put in Jim. "And now, to crown all, this new-fangled Sunday School. And there's Enoch Hoyle as proud as Punch because they've set him on to teach th' youngest class their alphabet." "Why, Enoch can't read himself," I exclaimed feebly. "No, but he's learning from th' scholars as they go on," explained Ruth, glad, so it seemed to me, to keep chattering on any subject under the sun and not yet fully recovered from the confusion into which she had been thrown by my unexpected return to consciousness "I hearkened to them t'other Sunday, You know we've had the letters of the alphabet cut in large wood letters. 'What do you ca' this chap,' says Enoch to th' top boy in th' class, taking up a letter promiscuous like. 'It's a P,' says th' boy. 'An' what dost ta ca' it?' asks Enoch from the next boy. 'It's a P for sartin',' says th' lad. And so on, right down to the bottom boy. Then Enoch laid down the letter with a profound sigh. 'It's a P,' he pronounced, an' don't yo' forget it as long as yo' live.' And that's how Enoch is both learning to read and teaching his class. He says he'll die happy when he can spell 'Belgian hares.' But there, I'm talking all this time of something and nothing, and what we've all been dying to know these days back is how you came by that nasty wound in your arm. Dr. Dean says it's our duty to society to bring the offenders to book, though father ever quotes to him 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.' "And what does Dr. Dean say to that?" I asked, more to gain time than from any curiosity as to the worthy surgeon's views. "Oh, he makes short work of texts. He says they're right enough on Sundays and for Sunday wear, but on week days he opines God Almighty relies on the secular arm, as he calls it." "Meaning th' bobby," interpreted Jim. "It seemed to me from what I heard you saying to Jim----" I began. "You mustn't trust your ears for anything you fancy you heard just as you came to your senses," put in Ruth hurriedly, and blushing red as a peony. "You can never be sure how much was real and how much dreaming." "To be sure," corroborated Jim, wagging his head sagely. "Well, I fancied I heard you say you had reasons of your own for thinking it wasn't one of the Bradbury's gave me this jab in my arm." "Oh! if that's all you heard," said Ruth, evidently much relieved. "I didn't say it _was_ all I heard," I replied, trying to look at her with much severity, whilst Jim seemed to be studying a crack in the ceiling. "But I _should_ like to know your reasons."