consulting-room, to the bench, and even to the pulpit? Mrs. Westmacott
sacrificed her tricycle ride in her eagerness over her pet subject, and
her two fair disciples drank in every word, and noted every suggestion
for future use. That afternoon they went shopping in London, and before
evening strange packages began to be handed in at the Doctor's door.
The plot was ripe for execution, and one of the conspirators was merry
and jubilant, while the other was very nervous and troubled.

When the Doctor came down to the dining-room next morning, he was
surprised to find that his daughters had already been up some time. Ida
was installed at one end of the table with a spirit-lamp, a curved glass
flask, and several bottles in front of her. The contents of the flask
were boiling furiously, while a villainous smell filled the room. Clara
lounged in an arm-chair with her feet upon a second one, a blue-covered
book in her hand, and a huge map of the British Islands spread across
her lap. "Hullo!" cried the Doctor, blinking and sniffing, "where's the
breakfast?"

"Oh, didn't you order it?" asked Ida.

"I! No; why should I?" He rang the bell. "Why have you not laid the
breakfast, Jane?"

"If you please, sir, Miss Ida was a workin' at the table."

"Oh, of course, Jane," said the young lady calmly. "I am so sorry. I
shall be ready to move in a few minutes."

"But what on earth are you doing, Ida?" asked the Doctor. "The smell is
most offensive. And, good gracious, look at the mess which you have