But somehow the doctor was not happy, and spent as little of his time as possible at home. When a wet day compelled him to stop in, as the streams were flooded, he amused himself by going over his fishing-tackle, or making weather-cocks to place out in his garden to scare away the birds, which were supposed to be tempted by the fruit. On this particular morning, with her cap awry, and looking more unkempt than usual, Mrs Rumsey was very lachrymose and very busy, carving away at the bread and butter, and rocking the cradle with one foot, while at times she cast an occasional eye out of the open door at her twins, Billy and Dilly, two sturdy little boys a couple of years old, fair, fat, and so much alike that it required study to avoid mistakes. They were toddling up and down the pebble garden-path, each with a feeding bottle tied to his waist, the long india-rubber pipe reaching upwards, and the mouth-piece between his lips, the pair looking like a couple of young Turks enjoying a morning hookah in the open air. The other children were already in their places, sniffing occasionally and looking longingly at the pile of bread-and-butter mounting high, what time mamma gave them torture lessons during the preparation for the meal. "Why don't your father come?" she said, dolefully, as she looked impatiently at the door. "He always will stay with his patients so much longer than he need. Who's that coming?" "Madge Mullion, ma," cried the eldest-born, a long, thin girl, whose face lit up as there was a bang of the garden gate and a rustling of skirts; and, after bending down to kiss the children, Madge, looking very pale and pretty, came in without ceremony. "How are you?" she cried, kissing Mrs Rumsey. "Very poorly, my dear," whined the doctor's wife. "These children will worrit me into my grave." "No, no," cried Madge, as she faced round. "Have you any news?" "No, my dear, there's never any news down in this lost out-of-the-way place. Dr Rumsey always would persist in leaving London, or he might have been having his guinea fee from every patient, and keeping his carriage by now." "Then it isn't true!" said Madge, with a sigh of relief. "What, my dear?--Priscilla, if you will persist in sniffing so, I certainly will slap you." The young lady addressed immediately began tugging at a pocket-handkerchief, secured by one end to the waistband of some under-garment, and bent her young body like an arc to get a good blow. "I have been to the shop, and heard that Mr Tregenna was taken ill in the night." "Oh, yes, my dear, he was. Papa was called up at two o'clock, and he hasn't come back yet." "Oh!" ejaculated Madge, turning paler. "That he has, ma," cried the eldest boy. "I got up at five to see what time it was, and pa was just going out with his fishing-rod; and he told me to go back quietly to bed and not wake anybody."