A PRISONER 117

the man to throw those two barrack rugs over you, and leave
your food in case you should wake, which did not seem to
me likely. I see, however, that you did wake,” and he
pointed to the plate.

“That was not till this morning, doctor; it is not an hour
since I ate it.”

“Vhis broth will be better for you, and I daresay you can
manage another breakfast. Sit down and take it at once
while it is hot. Iam in no hurry.” He gave an order in
Russian to the soldier, who went out, and returned in a
few minutes with a small wooden tub filled with hot water.
By this time Charlie had finished the broth. ‘The doctor
then bathed his head for some time in hot water, but was
obliged to cut off some of his hair in order to remove the
bandage. Ashe examined the wound Charlie was astounded
to hear him mutter to himself:

“Tt is a mighty nate clip you have got, my boy; and if
your skull had not been a thick one, it is lying out there on
the turf you would be.”

Charlie burst into a fit of laughter. “So you are English
too,” he exclaimed, as he looked up into the surgeon's
face.

“At laste Irish, my boy,” the doctor said, as surprised
as Charlie had been. “’To think we should have been
talking Swedish to each other instead of our native tongue.
And what is your name? And what is it you are doing
here as a Swede, at all?”

“My name is Charles Carstairs. I come from JLanca-
shire, just on the borders of Westmoreland. My father
is a Jacobite, and so had to leave the country. He went
over to Sweden, and I with some friends of his got com-
missions.”

“Then our cases are pretty much alike,” the doctor said.
“YT had gone through Dublin University, and had just
passed as a surgeon when King James landed. It didn’t