"Fine specimen, sir," said Bill, "and tough work enough we've had to get him, neither; the ground's as hard as a brick-bat." "Ah!" said the doctor, abstractedly, feeling me all over. "Yes, sir," said the other; "and how heavy he be too!" "Humph!" said the doctor. "It is a bitter cold night," said Bill. "The wind howled among the trees while we was at work enough to make one's blood curdle." "Ha!" said the doctor; "I know what that means. A glass of grog wouldn't be unacceptable, unless I mistake." "Well, sir, you've just guessed about right," said Bill. "A glass of grog now and then, just to keep out the cold is a very fine thing, as you, being a doctor, sir, I've no doubt are well aware." "Ha! ha!" laughed the doctor. "I perceive you understand the theory of the circulation of the blood. Well, as you have done your work well, I'll just put the kettle on the hob, and you shall have a good stiff glass apiece." "That's the sort of thing, eh, Tom? The doctor is a real gentleman, and no mistake." Tom acquiesced, and soon the doctor produced a tall bottle of brandy, and more than half filling two tumblers, and popping a couple of lumps of sugar into each glass, he lifted the kettle from the hob and filled them up to the brim. Then, stirring up the sugar at the bottom with the handle of his dissecting knife, he handed a glass to each of his creatures across my body. "Here's luck, sir," said one of them, nodding. "I looks towards you, sir," said the other, sipping his grog. "Thanks, my man, thanks," said the doctor. "A----h!" gasped Bill, after a deep draught, and smacking his lips, "this is something like a glass of grog. I feel myself again. I'd as lief set out again after another subject to-night as not." "Well, mate," said Tom, draining his glass, "I guess we'd better toddle." The doctor then counted out twenty guineas, and gave the men ten apiece. "Thank ye kindly, sir," said they, "and when again you be in want of our services, your honour knows where to find us. Good-night, sir." "Good-night," responded the doctor, as he showed them out and closed the door. I was left alone for a moment, but when he returned he might begin dissecting me at once, and that would be horrible, for I was still in my trance. I hoped he would defer operations until the morrow. In the meantime I hoped to come to. Then I heard the doctor's footsteps in the passage, and here he was again. Would he really cut me up before I could call out or defend myself? Good Heavens! What was he about now? He had tucked up his shirt sleeves and seized his dissecting-knife! All was lost. My hopes had been raised only to be dashed to the ground. My last hour had come. Already I felt the point of the murderous instrument against my chest. Rip!--an incision had been made! "Hullo!" cried the doctor, dropping his dissecting-knife. "What is this? Why the man's not dead!"