Well, there was I, a small, brown, withered, grizzled, elderly, mustachioed monkey, chained to my wheel-chair; there were the brave logs blazing up the wide chimney; there was the tea table on my right with its array of silver and old china; and there, on the other side of it, attending to my wants, sat as brave and sweet a type of young English womanhood as you could find throughout the length and breadth of the land.

Had I not been happy, I should have been an ungrateful dog.
We talked of the war, of local news, of the wounded at the hospital.
And here I must say that we are very proud of our Wellingsford Hospital.

It is the largest and the wealthiest in the county.

We owe it to the uneasy conscience of a Wellingsford man, a railway speculator in the forties, who, having robbed widows and orphans and, after trial at the Old Bailey, having escaped penal servitude by the skin of his teeth, died in the odour of sanctity, and the possessor of a colossal fortune in the year eighteen sixty-three.

This worthy gentleman built the hospital and endowed it so generously that a wing of it has been turned into a military hospital with forty beds.