badly,” she whispered coaxingly. “Besides, Tom, if you won’t take it the doctor says you are not to be allowed to speak, and of course I shall not be able to answer your questions.”

This settled the point; so I at once tossed off the draught she handed me, which, although slightly bitter, was not nearly as nasty as I thought it would have been, having a wholesome horror of doctor’s mixtures. The draught, at all events, put fresh vigour into me. It certainly gave me strength to speak again as soon as I had gulped it down, for I was fidgeting to know what had occurred.

“Now, mother,” I said, “tell me all about it. I can’t be quiet till you do. Have I had the fever again, or what?”

I may mention in explanation of this question of mine that, the year before, I had been confined to bed with a sharp attack of a sort of tertian ague, which is the scourge of most tropical countries. This was the only illness I had ever suffered from in my young life; so, I thought now that my old enemy had paid me another visit.

“No, dear, you have not had the fever,” she answered. “Do you forget all about going to town to meet your father, and how your pony threw you over his head at the foot of Constitution Hill?”

Thereupon the whole thing flashed back upon my mind in an instant.

“But how did I get here?” I inquired, puzzled at this part of the affair. “I remember now about my tumble, and seeing dad and Doctor Martin at some place in Saint George’s, with old Jake crying behind them, but I don’t recollect anything else.”

“My boy,” said my mother seriously, her lips trembling as she spoke, “you’ve had a very narrow escape from an awful death! Do you know that had you fallen on your head in the street when Prince pitched you over, nothing could have saved your life? As it was, you got your left arm broken and face cut, besides which you have been suffering from a slight concussion of the brain, Doctor Martin says. It is the latter which has made you insensible for so long a time. At one time, indeed, we all despaired of you!”

“Really!” I exclaimed, drawing a long breath of dismay at this catalogue of my injuries.

“Yes, really, Tom,” said she; “it is a wonder to me that you are now lying here in your right senses again.”

“But how did I get home, mother?” I asked, pressing my inquiries so as to learn every incident of the accident.

“Well, dear, being unconscious, and as moving you could not affect your head much, Doctor Martin thought you would recover sooner if removed to the fresh country air of Mount Pleasant than if you were allowed to remain in the stifling atmosphere of the town. So you were brought up here, borne on the very sofa on which you were placed when they picked you up after your fall, four negroes acting as your palanquin bearers.”

“Jake was one, I bet!” I here put in, interrupting her. “I am sure he wouldn’t have let anyone else carry me if he could help it.”

“Oh, yes, Jake assisted,” she said; “and I gave him a fine scolding, too, afterwards, for allowing you to ride down that hill at such a pace. It was a mercy you were not killed outright!”

“It wasn’t his fault, mother,” I interposed at this point. Really, I was not going to let poor Jake be blamed for my obstinacy! “I made Prince gallop into the town as hard as I could, in spite of all he could say, for I was anxious to get down to the wharf before the passengers had landed from the steamer. I wished to be the first to meet dad.”

“And you’ve found out now, Tom, the truth of the old proverb, ‘more haste, worse speed,’ eh, my dear?”

“Yes, mother,” I said with a laugh, “I never got there at all. But, dad came all right, for I saw him, you know. Where is he?”

“He’ll be here presently,” she replied; “he has been very anxious about you, and has sat up every night with you.”

“I’m very sorry,” I said; but then, feeling about my face and head with the solitary hand I was now only able to move, I noticed something strange. “Why, hullo, mother!” I cried out, “what is the matter with the top of my head—where is my hair gone? All seems so smooth!”

She couldn’t help laughing—I suppose it was at my comical look of mingled astonishment and perplexity.

“It had to be shaved off when you were delirious, Tom,” she said with a smile; “you feel funny without it, no doubt, but it will soon grow again, my boy.”

“Oh dear, oh dear!” I exclaimed lugubriously; “I suppose I will be bald and have to wear a wig, like old Mr Bunting! My arm, too, mother, hurts awfully! and I can’t move it at all.”

“Never mind, Tom, it might have been worse, you know,” she said in her quiet soothing way. “You ought to thank God for sparing your life, instead of grumbling at what your own recklessness has produced. However, my dear boy, you’ll soon pull round and be yourself again if you will only keep quiet and obey all the doctor’s directions.”

“But, mother, it’s a terrible task for me to keep quiet,” I cried in such a serious manner that I made her laugh again.

“No doubt it is,” she said, “but you must learn to do it if you wish to get well again; and, Tom, I can’t help reminding you that your being laid up now has greatly interfered with our plans. Your father wished to have sold the estate, and for us all to go home to England. Indeed, but for your accident we would have gone by the last packet.”

This was news with a vengeance! It almost made me jump out of bed, crippled as I was, and my mother had to put her hand on my shoulder to restrain me.

“What! sell Mount Pleasant?” I ejaculated.

“Yes,” she replied.

“And all of us go home together, instead of my being sent to England alone to school?” I continued.

“That was what your father thought of,” said my mother in answer to this question of mine; “but your illness has made him alter his mind somewhat, as you will learn when you are able to get up and move about. You must now, dear, remain quiet, and not excite yourself; otherwise, your recovery will be retarded and that will worry your father more.”

“All right, mother, I promise to be good,” I said resolutely, nestling down amongst the pillows which had been comfortably fixed around me, and trying to be as still as a mouse. “I will do all that you and the doctor tells me, if you’ll only make me well again.”

“That’s my brave boy,” she murmured softly, smoothing my poor hairless head with her gentle hand in such a caressing way that it made me feel drowsy, and in another minute I had dropped off into a sound sleep. I did not wake again until some hours afterwards, when I was so refreshed and hungry that I was able to demolish a large basin of jelly-like chicken broth with some thin toast, which did me much good.

From that time I gradually got better; but my recovery was very slow, on account of the thorough shaking I had received from my fall, and it was quite another fortnight before I was able to be moved downstairs and allowed to sit in the verandah, where the fresh breezes from the sea and the scent of the flowers on the terrace completed my cure.

For some days even after this, however, I had to keep perfectly quiet, in accordance with the orders of Doctor Martin, who feared that I had sustained some injury to my spine in addition to my other contusions. This suspicion of his turned out, fortunately for me, to be groundless; but the rest he enjoined was very much out of keeping with my buoyant and excitable nature, which was fidgety in the extreme.

Still, this period of convalescence was by no means irksome to me on the whole, for I had plenty wherewith to occupy my attention and my sisters for companions, little Totty, the youngest, never being so happy as when with me.

In order the better to amuse me, and make me remain in a recumbent position, dad rigged up an Indian