"What are you," he demanded, "a witch? Do you jest wave your wand an' make things happen?" "Oh, no," laughed Mary. "I bought it this mornin'," and the steak was soon sizzling temptingly in a skillet. "And you're sure th' boy's comin' along all right?" he asked. "Th' docther says he kin set up day arter t'-morrer. He's got his side in a plaster cast, an' says he'll keep it there till th' ribs knit. He says that won't take long." The doctor, as will be seen, counted on Allan's perfect health and vigorous constitution; nor did he count in vain, for two days later he permitted the patient to rise from the bed, helped him carefully to descend the stairs, and saw him comfortably installed in a great padded chair by the front window, whence he could look down over the busy yards. "Why, it seems like old times," he said, smiling, as he sank back into the chair. "It isn't so very long ago that I was sitting here with a bullet-hole through me." "You certainly have had your share," agreed the doctor. "It's just about two years since I cut that bullet out from under your shoulder-blade. What did you do with it?" "Here it is," said Mary, and taking a small bottle from the mantelpiece, she showed the little piece of flattened lead inside. "You'll get over this a good deal quicker," went on the doctor, reassuringly. "You may walk around a little, only be careful to move slowly and not to bring any strain or wrench upon the side. I'll look in once in awhile and make sure you're getting along all right," and with that he was gone. At the gate, Allan saw him meet a mail-carrier, and pause to answer a question which the carrier put to him. Then he jumped into his buggy, and drove away, while the carrier mounted to the front door and knocked. "I've got a registered letter here for John Welsh," he said, when Mary opened the door. "Is he here?" "Here I am," said Jack, "but th' letter must be fer some other John Welsh. Where's it from?" "It's from Coalville." "Then it's fer you, Jack," said Mary, quickly. "All right; sign for it here," said the carrier, and presented the card and book. Jack signed silently, and waited till the door closed behind the carrier. "I don't believe it's fer me," he said. "Who'd be sendin' me a registered letter?" "The best way to find out is to open it," suggested Allan. "Here, you open it," said Jack, "an' if it ain't fer me, shut it up agin. I've heerd o' people bein' sent t' jail fer openin' letters that didn't belong to 'em." "Very well," assented Allan, and tore open the envelope and drew out the letter. Jack noticed how his face changed and his hands trembled as he glanced through it. "Put it back, boy," he cried. "I knowed it wasn't fer me. Put it back!" "Yes, it _is_ for you, Jack," said Allan, looking up, his eyes bright with tears. Listen: "'Mr. John Welsh, "'_Wadsworth, Ohio_.