"A bullet
wound! Things must be lively at Sunnyside."
"I didn't say it was at Sunnyside. But as it happens, it was.
If any such case comes to you, will it be too much trouble for
you to let me know?"
"I shall be only too happy," he said. "I understand you have had
a fire up there, too. A fire and shooting in one night is rather
lively for a quiet place like that."
"It is as quiet as a boiler-shop," I replied, as I turned to go.
"And you are still going to stay?"
"Until I am burned out," I responded. And then on my way down
the steps, I turned around suddenly.
"Doctor," I asked at a venture, "have you ever heard of a child
named Lucien Wallace?"
Clever as he was, his face changed and stiffened. He was on his
guard again in a moment.
"Lucien Wallace?" he repeated. "No, I think not. There are
plenty of Wallaces around, but I don't know any Lucien."
I was as certain as possible that he did. People do not lie
readily to me, and this man lied beyond a doubt. But there was
nothing to be gained now; his defenses were up, and I left, half
irritated and wholly baffled.
Our reception was entirely different at Doctor Stewart's. Taken
into the bosom of the family at once, Flinders tied outside and
nibbling the grass at the roadside, Gertrude and I drank some
home-made elderberry wine and told briefly of the fire. Of the
more serious part of the night's experience, of course, we said
nothing. But when at last we had left the family on the porch
and the good doctor was untying our steed, I asked him the same
question I had put to Doctor Walker.
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