John Thorndyke had sent a letter by the returning messenger to a friend in town, begging him to go at once to Leadenhall Street and send down a supply of Indian condiments for his brother's use, and had then betaken himself to the garden to think the matter over.

The next day a post chaise arrived, bringing the invalid and his colored servant, whose complexion and Indian garb struck the maids with an awe not unmingled with alarm.

John Thorndyke could hardly believe that the bent and emaciated figure was that of his brother, but he remembered the voice when the latter said, holding out his hand to him: "Well, brother John, here I am, what is left of me.

Gracious, man, who would have thought that you were going to grow up such a fine tall fellow?
You are more fitted to be a soldier than I am.

No, don't try to help me out; Ramoo will do that--he is accustomed to my ways, and I would as soon trust myself to a rogue elephant as to you." "I am sorry to see you looking so bad, brother George." "What must be must.