“What is the matter, 'Squills'?” said the Doctor, kindly. “I was thinking of the monstrous fibber-in here,” said “Squills,” lugubriously. “'Squills,' I don't know how I can properly punish the disrespect shown our young lady guest and your superior officer, by that vile pun and the viler implication contained in it.” “This sugar,” continued the Doctor, lifting some out of an old tomato can with a large iron spoon, and tendering it to Rachel for her coffee, “has a rich golden color, which is totally absent from the paler varieties to which you are accustomed. Its deeper hue comes from having caught more of the Cuban yellow sun's rays.” “Yes,” interjected “Squills,” “all the Cuban's yellow sons raise. Their daughters, too, are sometimes almost brown.” Dr. Denslow frowned. “What a queer odor it has,” said Rachel, sniffing it, and staying the spool just over her cup. “Has it?” said the Doctor, sniffing too. “O, that's nothing. That's only chloroform. The ants were very bad, and we put some in to kill them off.” “I don't believe I'll take any in my coffee, thank you,” said Rachel, calmly. “There are times when I don't like it sweetened.” “But you'll certainly take cream, then,” he said, breaking off the cover of a can of condensed milk. “Here is some put in the reverse of the homeopathic plan. Instead of being the 30th dilution, it is about the 30th concentration. With this little can, and his pump in good order, a milkman could supply a good big route with 'pure grass-fed milk.' Within these narrow walls are compressed the nutritive juices of an acre of fragrant white clover.” “The Doctor was formerly a lecturer in a medical college,” said “Squills” “sotto voce” to Rachel. Rachel's appetite had seemed sufficient for almost any food, but she confined her breakfast to two or three crackers of hard bread, and a few sups of coffee. The pleasantry had failed of its desired effect. It was like vinegar upon niter, or the singing of songs to an heavy heart. As they rose from the table the Doctor informed her that he and the Stewards were about to make their morning round of the wards, and that she had better accompany them. She went along without a word. They walked slowly up and down the long aisles behind the Doctor, who stopped before each cot, and closely examined its occupant's tongue, pulse, and other indicators of his condition, and gave prescriptions, which the Steward wrote down, as to medicine and food. What was better still were his words of sympathy for the very ill and of cheery encouragement for the convalescent, which he bestowed upon every one.