"I hope your arm is not broke, my friend," said the surgeon, "allow me to see; first of all, we must divest you of this cumbrous frock." The frock was removed with some difficulty, and then the upper vestments of my frame, with more difficulty still.

The surgeon felt my arm, moving it up and down, causing me unspeakable pain.

"There is no fracture," said he, at last, "but a contusion--a violent contusion.

I am told you were going to Horncastle; I am afraid you will be hardly able to ride your horse thither in time to dispose of him; however, we shall see--your arm must be bandaged, friend; after which I will bleed you, and administer a composing draught." To be short, the surgeon did as he proposed, and when he had administered the composing draught, he said, "Be of good cheer; I should not be surprised if you are yet in time for Horncastle." He then departed with the master of the house, and the woman, leaving me to my repose, I soon began to feel drowsy, and was just composing myself to slumber, lying on my back, as the surgeon had advised me, when I heard steps ascending the stairs, and in a moment more the surgeon entered again, followed by the master of the house.

"I hope we don't disturb you," said the former; "my reason for returning is to relieve your mind from any anxiety with respect to your horse.