Dr. Bethel occupied two pleasant rooms of a small house owned by 'Squire Brookhouse. He had chosen these, so he afterwards informed me, because he wished a quiet place for study, and this he could scarcely hope to find either in the village hotel or the average private boarding houses. He took his meals at the hotel, and shared the office of Dr. Barnard, the eldest of the Trafton physicians, who was quite willing to retire from the practice of his profession, and was liberal enough to welcome a young and enterprising stranger.
Dr. Bethel was absent; this the mob soon ascertained, and some of them, after paying a visit to the stable, reported that his horse was gone.
"Gone to visit some country patient, I dare say," said Mr. Harris, as we heard this announcement.
"Gone ter be out of the way till he sees is he found out," yelled Tom Briggs. "Let's go through the house, boys."
There was a brief consultation among the leaders of the raid, and then, to my surprise and to Mr. Harris's disgust, they burst in the front door and poured into the house, Carnes among the rest. Jim Long drew back as they crowded in, and took up his position near the gate, and not far from the place where we had halted.
Their search was rapid and fruitless; they were beginning to come out and scatter about the grounds, when a horse came thundering up to the gate, and Dr. Bethel flung himself from the saddle.
He had seen the raiding party while yet some rods away, and he turned a perplexed and angry face upon us.
"I should like to know the meaning of this," he said, in quick, ringing tones, at the same moment throwing open the little gate so forcibly as to make those nearest it start and draw back. "Who has presumed to open my door?"