There was strife within the gates of Broadwater on the announcement of Ronald’s engagement. The uncle was furious at being supplanted this second time, and, to make matters worse, the offender in this case was the nephew of his choice. So wroth was he that he nearly made me his heir out of spite, and, for two or three days, my price rose considerably on the matrimonial market. But, on giving tongue to his wrath, he found himself without a supporter. “A servile war had broken out” (to quote from ‘Cometh up,’—sweetest of all love stories, but, Great _Dionysius_! what Greek!) and his sister was in a state of open rebellion. It was she who headed the rising, and with her went all the servants, which left our uncle in a minority of one. She was, naturally enough, well pleased at the progress of events, and anticipated with satisfaction the continuance of her reign. Ronald, so soon as his month’s probation was ended, was thankful to be received out of the fray into the sanctuary of Thorpe. Not that he was at peace, even there. His conscience gave him twinges, and I had a word to say to him on the subject, and his wife had a word or two more. But it was all for his good, and he had brought it upon himself by treating matrimony (of all estates in the world) in a spirit of graceless levity. * * * * * And what of myself? Well, reader, I had lost my chance, or, perhaps, willingly foregone it. All Ronald’s pet schemes had been safe in my hands, and I was little likely to oppose the present one, when, almost from the first, I had pictured its realisation, and seen how necessary it was to the happiness and stability of his life. My unselfishness—call it passivity if you will—carried with it its own reward, for neither of the two was happy without me, and Thorpe Hill practically became my home. Judy, or Retrieved RONALD became her ‘fidus Achates’ and Lord High Almoner in all her acts of charity. Occasionally, it is true, he misunderstood or exceeded his instructions, as, for instance, when he went round with a parcel of physic to a sick cottager. “How be I to take ’m? did she tell ’e?” “No: she didn’t, but she meant all, I suppose, unless it’s written inside.” This was a large order, as the parcel contained castor oil, a black draught, and six blue pills. “And which be I to take fust? She must ha’ told ’e that.” Again Ronald was at fault. “Much, I allow, as the gentry do their vittles—solids fust, and drinks atterwards.” The prescriptions, whatever the order observed in their administration, answered to perfection, and Ronald’s fame was greatly magnified by the result. His drugs were in high request everywhere, and were reported to be “powerfully fine.” One day his wife said to him, “Ronald, would you like to hear a project I have in hand for reclaiming a pet drunkard?” “Very much: what is it?” “I shall give him a dog.”