"A good many years ago in Amoy--I was quite a _young_ doctor then--I was thrown in with a clever young fellow who had recently landed there, having come on a sailing-ship from America. He seemed rather at loose ends, so to speak,--didn't know the language, didn't have any money, didn't know what to do with himself, didn't have any occupation, and spent most of his time wandering aimlessly about the town. "He was a fine, upstanding, straightforward chap (he said his name was Archibald Ferris), but he evidently had something on his mind, for he was gloomy and depressed. It began to worry me for fear he'd drift into trouble if he kept on that way. So I tried to get him interested in my own work, and invited him to go around with me on some of my long tours. We didn't have any hospital then, and I had to go about from town to town doing my medical work as I went. He came with me very gladly, and was of a good deal of assistance, and we grew to be firm friends. But I realized there was something he was pining for, and after a long while he confessed to me what it was. "He wanted a _violin_! He adored music, played well, but had lost or parted from his instrument in some way. (He didn't explain that, just then.) Well, a missionary's salary isn't munificent, so I couldn't very well grant his wish out of my own pocket, much as I wanted to. The best I could do was to get him a position in a Chinese tea-exporting house in Amoy, where he could earn the money himself. It was better for him to be regularly occupied, anyway. "After a few months he had saved a sufficient sum, and sent off to Shanghai for his coveted treasure--he couldn't wait to get it over from America! After it came he was actually happy--for a while. He _was_ a marvelous musician for his age, I'll admit, and he could hold us spellbound an entire evening at a time with his bow. The natives adored him, and gave him the name 'Chok-gàk ê lâng' or 'maker of melodies.' "Well, he had the musical temperament, and after his violin came he couldn't stay long in the tea-house, but got to going about with me again on my tours--always with his precious violin. He was really of the greatest assistance, because his music was almost as good as an anæsthetic in many instances--could calm the most excitable fever-case I ever came across. "It was on one of these tours that he met young Miss Cecily Marlowe at the English mission in Sio-khé--" At this point every one gave a little start of surprise and looked toward Cecily, who alone sat gazing, wide-eyed and absorbed, at Dr. Atwater.