"Shot!" interrupted Mrs. Dalrymple, in frightened tones. "Shot?"
"It is nothing, I assure you. A very slight wound. He will be out with us again in a week."
"Oh, Mr. Cleveland!" she faintly cried. "Is it serious?"
"Serious!" laughed the well-intentioned clergyman. "My dear lady, don't you see how merry I am? The most serious part is the leg of the trousers. Oscar, taking alarm, like you, decapitated it at the knee. The trousers will never be fit to wear again," added Mr. Cleveland, with a grave face.
"We will turn them over to Robert's stock," said Selina. "I am sure, what with one random action or another, half his clothes are in ribands."
"How was it done?" inquired Alice.
"An accident," slightingly replied Mr. Cleveland. "One never does know too well how such mishaps occur."
"We must send for a doctor," observed Mrs. Dalrymple, ringing the bell. "However slight it may be, I shall not know how to treat it."
"We thought of that, and Robert is gone for Forth," said the Rector, as he turned away.
In the passage he met Reuben, a staid, respectable manservant who had been in the family many years; his healthy face was ruddy as a summer apple, and his head, bald on the top, was sprinkled with powder. Mr. Cleveland told him what had happened; he then went to the back-door, and stood there, looking out—his hands in the pockets of his velveteen coat. Selina came quietly up; she was trembling.