"Why, Barnabas!" she exclaimed, "oh, Barnabas!" and with the words

stooped, quick and sudden, yet in the most matter-of-fact manner in

the world, and kissed him lightly on the brow.

"Oh, dear me!" she cried, beginning to pat and smooth his tumbled

pillows, "how glad I am to see you able to frown again, though

indeed you look dreadfully ferocious, Barnabas!"

"I'm--very hungry, Duchess!"

"Of course you are, Barnabas, and God bless you for it!"

"A steak, madam, or a chop, I think--"

"Would be excellent, Barnabas!"

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"And I wish to get up, Duchess."

"To be sure you do, Barnabas--there, lie down, so!"

"But, madam, I am firmly resolved--I'm quite determined to get up,

at once--"

"Quite so, dear Barnabas--lay your head back on the pillow! Dear me,

how comfortable you look! And now, you are hungry you say? Then I'll

sit here and gossip to you while you take your chicken broth! You may

bring it in, Mr. Peterby."

"Chicken broth!" snarled Barnabas, frowning blacker than ever,

"but, madam, I tell you I won't have the stuff; I repeat, madam,

that I am quite determined to--"

"There, there--rest your poor tired head--so! And it's all a

delicious jelly when it's cold--I mean the chicken broth, of course,

not your head. Ah! you may give it to me, Mr. Peterby, and the

spoon--thank you! Now, Barnabas!"

And hereupon, observing the firm set of her Grace's mouth, and the

authoritative flourish of the spoon she held in her small, though

imperious hand, Barnabas submitted and lying back among his pillows

in sulky dignity, swallowed the decoction in sulky silence, and

thereafter lay hearkening sulkily to her merry chatter until he had

sulked himself to sleep again.

III His third awakening was much like the first in that room, was full

of sunshine, and the air vibrant with the song of birds; yet here

indeed lay a difference; for now, mingled with the piping chorus,

Barnabas was vaguely conscious of another sound, soft and low and

oft repeated, a very melodious sound that yet was unlike any note

ever uttered by thrush or blackbird, or any of the feathered kind.

Therefore, being yet heavy with sleep, Barnabas yawned, and

presently turning, propped himself upon his elbow and was just in

time to see a shapeless something vanish from the ledge of the open

window.

The sun was low as yet, the birds in full song, the air laden with

fresh, sweet, dewy scents; and from this, and the profound stillness

of the house about him, he judged it to be yet early morning.

Now presently as he lay with his eyes turned ever towards the open

casement, the sound that had puzzled him came again, soft and

melodious.

Some one was whistling "The British Grenadiers."




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