time, though, and, having had my shoulder bathed and a plaster put upon it, I was got to bed, and slept profoundly till some time after two o'clock of the afternoon.
When I opened my eyes I saw that the room was darkened, and that anxious Mrs. Polly, Doctor Paradise (physician-in-ordinary to all the county families about), and no less a person than my Aunt, the dowager, were sitting in a row beside the bed, and looking at me solemnly.
"Good evening to you, doctor," says I, feeling perfectly restored by so sound a slumber, "or is it afternoon? or is it morning? But I daresay you propose to make a case of this."
"Well, madam," says the twinkling, old, and snuffy rogue, "you are suffering from shock, and a contused and lacerated shoulder. Therefore I prescribe rest and quiet, and would recommend that you keep your bed for at least a week."
"Then I must be pretty bad," says I.
"True, true, dear Lady Barbara," says he, insinuatingly, "although, if I may presume to say so, I think 'pretty bad' is an expression scarce adequate to your condition."
"Eh, what?" says I.
"Of course, my dear lady," he explained, with wicked emphasis, "it is the condition of your corporal body that I refer to." And the sly old villain smiled and bowed in a very disconcerting manner.
Now it does you not a tittle of service anyway to
