'At home, I told them not to come up; I thought—'
'Well, we'll walk down together! I've got you all to myself. I thought you had missed my telegram. Hollo, Will, how d'ye do? what, this thing to drive down in?'
'I thought you were an invalid, Harry,' said Dr. May, with a laughing yet tearful ring in his agitated tone, as he packed himself and his son in.
'Ay! I wished I could have let you know sooner how well I had got over it,' said Harry, in the deep full voice of strong healthy manhood. 'I am afraid you have been very anxious.'
'We are used to it, my boy,' said the Doctor huskily, stroking the great firm fingers that were lying lovingly on his knee, 'and if it always ends in this way, it ought to do us more good than harm.'
'It has not done harm, I hope,' said Harry, catching him up quick. 'Not to old Mary?'
'No, Mary works things off, good girl. I flatter myself you will find us all in high preservation.'
'All—all at home! That's right.'
'Yes, those infants from Maplewood and all. You are sure you are all right, Harry?'
'As sure as my own feelings can make me, and the surgeon of the Dexter to back them,' said Harry. 'I don't believe my lungs were touched after all, but you shall all sit upon me when you like—Tom and all. It was a greater escape than I looked for,' he added, in a lower voice. 'I did not think to have had another Christmas here.'