The Staying Power of Sir Rohan
During the winter in which I reached my twenty fifth year I livedwith my mother's brother, Dr. Alfred Morris, in Warburton, asmall country town, and I was there beginning the practice ofmedicine. I had been graduated in the spring, and my uncleearnestly advised me to come to him and act as his assistant,which advice, considering the fact that he was an elderly man,and that I might hope to succeed him in his excellent practice,was considered good advice by myself and my family.At this time I practised very little, but learned a greatdeal, for as I often accompanied my uncle on his professionalvisits, I could not have taken a better postgraduate course.I had an invitation to spend the Christmas of that year withthe Collingwoods, who had opened their country house, abouttwelve miles from Warburton, for the entertainment of a holidayhouse party. I had gladly accepted the invitation, and on theday before Christmas I went to the livery stable in the villageto hire a horse and sleigh for the trip. At the stable I metUncle Beamish, who had also come to hire a conveyance."Uncle Beamish," as he was generally called in the village,although I am sure he had no nephews or nieces in the place,was an elderly man who had retired from some business, I know notwhat, and was apparently quite able to live upon whatever incomehe had. He was a good man, rather illiterate, but very shrewd.Generous in good works, I do not think he was fond of giving awaymoney, but his services were at the call of all who needed them.I liked Uncle Beamish very much, for he was not only a goodstory-teller, but he was willing to listen to my stories, andwhen I found he wanted to hire a horse and sleigh to go to thehouse of his married sister, with whom he intended to spendChristmas, and that his sister lived on Upper Hill turnpike, onwhich road the Collingwood house was situated, I proposed that weshould hire a sleigh together."That will suit me," said Uncle Beamish. "There couldn'thave been a better fit if I had been measured for it. Less thanhalf a mile after you turn into the turnpike, you pass mysister's house. Then you can drop me and go on to theCollingwoods', which I should say isn't more than three milesfurther."The arrangement was made, a horse and sleigh ordered, andearly in the afternoon we started from Warburton.The sleighing was good, but the same could not be said of thehorse. He was a big roan, powerful and steady, but entirely toodeliberate in action. Uncle Beamish, however, was quitesatisfied with him."What you want when you are goin' to take a journey with ahorse," said he, "is stayin' power. Your fast trotter is allvery well for a mile or two, but if I have got to go into thecountry in winter, give me a horse like this."I did not agree with him, but we jogged along quite pleasantlyuntil the afternoon grew prematurely dark and it began to snow."Now," said I, giving the roan a useless cut, "what we ought tohave is a fast horse, so that we may get there before there isa storm.""No, doctor, you're wrong," said Uncle Beamish. "What wewant is a strong horse that will take us there whether it stormsor not, and we have got him. And who cares for a little snowthat won't hurt nobody?"I did not care for snow, and we turned up our collars andwent as merrily as people can go to the music of slowly jinglingsleigh-bells.The snow began to fall rapidly, and, what was worse, the windblew directly in our faces, so that sometimes my eyes were soplastered up with snowflakes that I could scarcely see how todrive. I never knew snow to fall with such violence. Theroadway in front of us, as far as I could see it, was soon oneunbroken stretch of white from fence to fence."This is the big storm of the season," said Uncle Beamish,"and it is a good thing we started in time, for if the wind keepsblowin', this road will be pretty hard to travel in a couple ofhours."In about half an hour the wind lulled a little and I couldget a better view of our surroundings, although I could not seevery far through the swiftly descending snow."I was thinkin'," said Uncle Beamish, "that it might be agood idee, when we get to Crocker's place, to stop a little, andlet you warm your fingers and nose. Crocker's is ruther morethan half-way to the pike.""Oh, I do not want to stop anywhere," I replied quickly. "Iam all right."Nothing was said for some time, and then Uncle Beamish remarked:"I don't want to stop any more than you do, but it does seemstrange that we ain't passed Crocker's yit. We could hardly misshis house, it is so close to the road. This horse is slow, but Itell you one thing, doctor, he's improvin'. He is goin' betterthan he did. That's the way with this kind. It takes them agood while to get warmed up, but they keep on gettin' fresherinstead of tireder."The big roan was going better, but still we did not reachCrocker's, which disappointed Uncle Beamish, who wanted to beassured that the greater part of his journey was over."We must have passed it," he said, "when the snow was soblindin'."I did not wish to discourage him by saying that I did notthink we had yet reached Crocker's, but I believed I had a muchbetter appreciation of our horse's slowness than he had.Again the wind began to blow in our faces, and the snow fellfaster, but the violence of the storm seemed to encourage ourhorse, for his pace was now greatly increased."That's the sort of beast to have," exclaimed Uncle Beamish,spluttering as the snow blew in his mouth. "He is gettin' hisspirits up just when they are most wanted. We must have passedCrocker's a good while ago, and it can't be long before we get tothe pike. And it's time we was there, for it's darkenin'."On and on we went, but still we did not reach the pike.We had lost a great deal of time during the first part of thejourney, and although the horse was travelling so much betternow, his pace was below the average of good roadsters."When we get to the pike," said Uncle Beamish, "you can'tmiss it, for this road doesn't cross it. All you've got to do isto turn to the left, and in ten minutes you will see the lightsin my sister's house. And I'll tell you, doctor, if you wouldlike to stop there for the night, she'd be mighty glad to haveyou.""Much obliged," replied I, "but I shall go on. It's not lateyet, and I can reach the Collingwoods' in good time."We now drove on in silence, our horse actually arching hisneck as he thumped through the snow. Drifts had begun to formacross the road, but through these he bravely plunged."Stayin' power is what we want, doctor!" exclaimed UncleBeamish. "Where would your fast trotter be in drifts like these,I'd like to know? We got the right horse when we got this one,but I wish we had been goin' this fast all the time."It grew darker and darker, but at last we saw, not far infront of us, a light."That beats me," said Uncle Beamish. "I don't remember noother house so near the road. It can't be we ain't passedCrocker's yit! If we ain't got no further than that, I'm infavor of stoppin'. I'm not afraid of a snow-storm, but I ain't afool nuther, and if we haven't got further than Crocker's it willbe foolhardy to try to push on through the dark and these bigdrifts, which will be gettin' bigger."I did not give it up so easily. I greatly wished to`reach my destination that night. But there were three wills inthe party, and one of them belonged to the horse. Before I hadany idea of such a thing, the animal made a sudden turn,--toosudden for safety,--passed through a wide gateway, and after afew rapid bounds which, to my surprise, I could not restrain, hestopped suddenly."Hello!" exclaimed Uncle Beamish, peering forward, "here's abarn door." And he immediately began to throw off the far robethat covered our knees."What are you going to do?" I asked."I'm goin' to open the barn door and let the horse go in,"said he. "He seems to want to. I don't know whether this isCrocker's barn or not. It don't look like it, but I may bemistaken. Anyway, we will let the horse in, and then go to thehouse. This ain't no night to be travellin' any further, doctor,and that is the long and the short of it. If the people hereain't Crockers, I guess they are Christians!"I had not much time to consider the situation, for while hehad been speaking, Uncle Beamish had waded through the snow, andfinding the barn door unfastened, had slid it to one side.Instantly the horse entered the dark barn, fortunately findingnothing in his way."Now," said Uncle Beamish, "if we can get somethin' to tiehim with, so that he don't do no mischief, we can leave him hereand go up to the house." I carried a pocket lantern, and quicklylighted it. "By George!" said Uncle Beamish, as I held up thelantern, "this ain't much of a barn--it's no more than a wagon-house. It ain't Crocker's--but no matter; we'll go up to thehouse. Here is a hitchin'-rope."We fastened the horse, threw a robe over him, shut the barndoor behind us, and slowly made our way to the back of the house,in which there was a lighted window. Mounting a little portico,we reached a door, and were about to knock when it was opened forus. A woman, plainly a servant, stood in a kitchen, light andwarm."Come right in," she said. "I heard your bells. Did you putyour horse in the barn?""Yes," said Uncle Beamish, "and now we would like to see--""All right," interrupted the woman, moving toward an innerdoor. "Just wait here for a minute. I'm going up to tell her.""I don't know this place," said Uncle Beamish, as we stood bythe kitchen stove, "but I expect it belongs to a widow woman.""What makes you think that?" I asked."'Cause she said she was goin' to tell HER. If there hadbeen a man in the house, she would have gone to tell HIM."In a few moments the woman returned."She says you are to take off your wet things and then gointo the sitting-room. She'll be down in a minute."I looked at Uncle Beamish, thinking it was his right to makeexplanations, but, giving me a little wink, he began to take offhis overcoat. It was plain to perceive that Uncle Beamishdesired to assume that a place of refuge would be offered us."It's an awful bad night," he said to the woman, as he satdown to take off his arctic overshoes."It's all that," said she. "You may hang your coats overthem chairs. It won't matter if they do drip on this bare floor.Now, then, come right into the sitting-room."In spite of my disappointment, I was glad to be in a warm house,and hoped we might be able to stay there. I could hear the stormbeating furiously against the window-panes behind the drawnshades. There was a stove in the sitting-room, and a large lamp."Sit down," said the woman. "She will be here in a minute.""It strikes me," said Uncle Beamish, when we were left alone,"that somebody is expected in this house, most likely to spendChristmas, and that we are mistook for them, whoever they are.""I have the same idea," I replied, "and we must explain assoon as possible.""Of course we will do that," said he, "but I can tell you onething: whoever is expected ain't comin', for he can't get here.But we've got to stay here tonight, no matter who comes ordoesn't come, and we've got to be keerful in speakin' to thewoman of the house. If she is one kind of a person, we can offerto pay for lodgin's and horse-feed; but if she is another kind,we must steer clear of mentionin' pay, for it will make herangry. You had better leave the explainin' business to me."I was about to reply that I was more than willing to do sowhen the door opened and a person entered--evidently the mistressof the house. She was tall and thin, past middle age, andplainly dressed. Her pale countenance wore a defiant look, andbehind her spectacles blazed a pair of dark eyes, which, afteran instant's survey of her visitors, were fixed steadilyupon me. She made but a step into the room, and stood holdingthe door. We both rose from our chairs."You can sit down again," she said sharply to me. "I don'twant you. Now, sir," she continued, turning to Uncle Beamish,"please come with me."Uncle Beamish gave a glance of surprise at me, but heimmediately followed the old lady out of the room, and the doorwas closed behind them.For ten minutes, at least, I sat quietly waiting to see whatwould happen next--very much surprised at the remark that hadbeen made to me, and wondering at Uncle Beamish's protractedabsence. Suddenly he entered the room and closed the door."Here's a go!" said he, slapping his leg, but very gently."We're mistook the worst kind. We're mistook for doctors.""That is only half a mistake," said I. "What is the matter, andwhat can I do?""Nothin'," said he, quickly,--"that is, nothin' your ownself. Just the minute she got me outside that door she beganpitchin' into you. `I suppose that's young Dr. Glover,' saidshe. I told her it was, and then she went on to say, givin' meno chance to explain nothin', that she didn't want to haveanything to do with you; that she thought it was a shame to turnpeople's houses into paupers' hospitals for the purpose ofteachin' medical students; that she had heard of you, and whatshe had heard she hadn't liked. All this time she kept goin' up-stairs, and I follerin' her, and the fust thing I knowed sheopened a door and went into a room, and I went in after her, andthere, in a bed, was a patient of some kind. I was tookback dreadful, for the state of the case came to me like a flash.Your uncle had been sent for, and I was mistook for him. Now,what to say was a puzzle to me, and I began to think pretty fast.It was an awkward business to have to explain things to thatsharp-set old woman. The fact is, I didn't know how to begin,and was a good deal afraid, besides, but she didn't give me notime for considerin'. `I think it's her brain,' said she, `butperhaps you'll know better. Catherine, uncover your head!' Andwith that the patient turned over a little and uncovered herhead, which she had had the sheet over. It was a young woman,and she gave me a good look, but she didn't say nothin'. Now IWAS in a state of mind.""Of course you must have been," I answered. "Why didn't youtell her that you were not a doctor, but that I was. It wouldhave been easy enough to explain matters. She might have thoughtmy uncle could not come and he had sent me, and that you had comealong for company. The patient ought to be attended to withoutdelay.""She's got to be-attended to," said Uncle Beamish, "or elsethere will be a row and we'll have to travel--storm or no storm.But if you had heard what that old woman said about youngdoctors, and you in particular, you would know that you wasn'tgoin' to have anything to do with this case--at least, youwouldn't show in it. But I've got no more time for talkin'. Icame down here on business. When the old lady said, `Catherine,hold out your hand!' and she held it out, I had nothin' to do butstep up and feel her pulse. I know how to do that, for I havedone a lot of nussin' in my life. And then it seemed nat'ral toask her to put out her tongue, and when she did it Igave a look at it and nodded my head. `Do you think it is herbrain?' said the old woman, half whisperin'. `Can't say anythingabout that yit,' said I. `I must go down-stairs and get themedicine-case. The fust thing to do is to give her a draught,and I will bring it up to her as soon as it is mixed.' You havegot a pocket medicine-case with you, haven't you?""Oh, yes," said I. "It is in my overcoat.""I knowed it," said Uncle Beamish. "An old doctor might govisitin' without his medicine-case, but a young one would be sureto take it along, no matter where he was goin'. Now you get it,please, quick.""My notion is," said he, when I returned from the kitchenwith the case, "that you mix somethin' that might soothe her alittle, if she has got anything the matter with her brain, andwhich won't hurt her if she hasn't. And then, when I take it upto her, you tell me what symptoms to look for. I can do it--Ihave spent nights lookin' for symptoms. Then, when I come downand report, you might send her up somethin' that would keep herfrom gettin' any wuss till the doctor can come in the mornin',for he ain't comin' here to-night.""A very good plan," said I. "Now, what can I give her? Whatis the patient's age?""Oh, her age don't matter much," said Uncle Beamish,impatiently. "She may be twenty, more or less, and any mildstuff will do to begin with.""I will give her some sweet spirits of nitre," said I, takingout a little vial. "Will you ask the servant for a glass ofwater and a teaspoon?""Now," said I, when I had quickly prepared the mixture, "shecan have a teaspoonful of this, and another in ten minutes, andthen we will see whether we will go on with it or not.""And what am I to look for?" said he."In the first place," said I, producing a clinical thermometer,"you must take her temperature. You know how to do that?""Oh, yes," said he. "I have done it hundreds of times. Shemust hold it in her mouth five minutes.""Yes, and while you are waiting," I continued, "you must tryto find out, in the first place, if there are, or have been, anysigns of delirium. You might ask the old lady, and besides, youmay be able to judge for yourself.""I can do that," said he. "I have seen lots of it.""Then, again," said I, "you must observe whether or not herpupils are dilated. You might also inquire whether there hadbeen any partial paralysis or numbness in any part of the body.These things must be looked for in brain trouble. Then you cancome down, ostensibly to prepare another prescription, and whenyou have reported, I have no doubt I can give you something whichwill modify, or I should say--""Hold her where she is till mornin'," said Uncle Beamish. "That'swhat you mean. Be quick. Give me that thermometer and thetumbler, and when I come down again, I reckon you can fit herout with a prescription just as good as anybody."He hurried away, and I sat down to consider. I was full ofambition, full of enthusiasm for the practice of my profession.I would have been willing to pay largely for the privilegeof undertaking an important case by myself, in which it woulddepend upon me whether or not I should call in a consultingbrother. So far, in the cases I had undertaken, a consultingbrother had always called himself in--that is, I had practised inhospitals or with my uncle. Perhaps it might be found necessary,notwithstanding all that had been said against me, that I shouldgo up to take charge of this case. I wished I had not forgottento ask the old man how he had found the tongue and pulse.In less than a quarter of an hour Uncle Beamish returned."Well," said I, quickly, "what are the symptoms?""I'll give them to you," said he, taking his seat. "I'm notin such a hurry now, because I told the old woman I would like towait a little and see how that fust medicine acted. The patientspoke to me this time. When I took the thermometer out of hermouth she says, `You are comin' up ag'in, doctor?' speakin' lowand quickish, as if she wanted nobody but me to hear.""But how about the symptoms?" said I, impatiently."Well," he answered, "in the fust place her temperature isninety-eight and a half, and that's about nat'ral, I take it.""Yes," I said, "but you didn't tell me about her tongue andpulse.""There wasn't nothin' remarkable about them," said he."All of which means," I remarked, "that there is nofever. But that is not at all a necessary accompaniment of brainderangements. How about the dilatation of her pupils?""There isn't none," said Uncle Beamish; "they are ruthersquinched up, if anything. And as to delirium, I couldn't see nosigns of it, and when I asked the old lady about the numbness,she said she didn't believe there had been any.""No tendency to shiver, no disposition to stretch?""No," said the old man, "no chance for quinine.""The trouble is," said I, standing before the stove andfixing my mind upon the case with earnest intensity, "that thereare so few symptoms in brain derangement. If I could only gethold of something tangible--""If I was you," interrupted Uncle Beamish, "I wouldn't try toget hold of nothin'. I would just give her somethin' to keep herwhere she is till mornin'. If you can do that, I'll guaranteethat any good doctor can take her up and go on with her to-morrow."Without noticing the implication contained in these remarks, Icontinued my consideration of the case."If I could get a drop of her blood," said I."No, no!" exclaimed Uncle Beamish, "I'm not goin' to doanything of that sort. What in the name of common sense wouldyou do with her blood?""I would examine it microscopically," I said. "I might findout all I want to know."Uncle Beamish did not sympathize with this method of diagnosis."If you did find out there was the wrong kind of germs, youcouldn't do anything with them to-night, and it would just worryyou," said the old man. "I believe that nature will getalong fust-rate without any help, at least till mornin'. Butyou've got to give her some medicine--not so much for her good asfor our good. If she's not treated we're bounced. Can't yougive her somethin' that would do anybody good, no matter what'sthe matter with 'em? If it was the spring of the year I wouldsay sarsaparilla. If you could mix her up somethin' and put intoit some of them benevolent microbes the doctors talk about, itwould be a good deed to do to anybody.""The benign bacilli," said I. "Unfortunately I haven't anyof them with me.""And if you had," he remarked, "I'd be in favor of givin' 'emto the old woman. I take it they would do, her more good thananybody else. Come along now, doctor; it is about time for me togo up-stairs and see how the other stuff acted--not on thepatient, I don't mean, but on the old woman. The fact is, youknow, it's her we're dosin'.""Not at all," said I, speaking a little severely. "I amtrying to do my very best for the patient, but I fear I cannot doit without seeing her. Don't you think that if you told the oldlady how absolutely necessary--""Don't say anything more about that!" exclaimed Uncle Beamish."I hoped I wouldn't have to mention it, but she told me ag'inthat she would never have one of those unfledged medicalstudents, just out of the egg-shell, experimentin' on any of herfamily, and from what she said about you in particular, I shouldsay she considered you as a medical chick without even down onyou.""What can she know of me?" I asked indignantly."Give it up," said he. "Can't guess it. But that ain't thep'int. The p'int is, what are you goin' to give her? When I wasyoung the doctors used to say, When you are in doubt, givecalomel--as if you were playin' trumps.""Nonsense, nonsense," said I, my eyes earnestly fixed upon myopen medical case."I suppose a mustard-plaster on the back of her neck--""Wouldn't do at all," I interrupted. "Wait a minute, now--yes--I know what I will do: I will give her sodium bromide--tengrains.""`Which will hit if it's a deer and miss if it's a calf' asthe hunter said?" inquired Uncle Beamish."It will certainly not injure her," said I, "and I am quitesure it will be a positive advantage. If there has been cerebraldisturbance, which has subsided temporarily, it will assist herto tide over the interim before its recurrence.""All right," said Uncle Beamish, "give it to me, and I'll beoff. It's time I showed up ag'in."He did not stay up-stairs very long this time."No symptoms yit, but the patient looked at me as if shewanted to say somethin'; but she didn't git no chance, for theold lady set herself down as if she was planted in a garden-bedand intended to stay there. But the patient took the medicine asmild as a lamb.""That is very good," said I. "It may be that she appreciatesthe seriousness of her ewe better than we do.""I should say she wants to git well," he replied. "She lookslike that sort of a person to me. The old woman said she thoughtwe would have to stay awhile till the storm slackened, and Isaid, yes, indeed, and there wasn't any chance of its slackenin'to-night; besides, I wanted to see the patient before bedtime."At this moment the door opened and the servant-woman came in."She says you are to have supper, and it will be ready inabout half an hour. One of you had better go out and attend toyour horse, for the man is not coming back to-night.""I will go to the barn," said I, rising. Uncle Beamish alsorose and said he would go with me."I guess you can find some hay and oats," said the woman, aswe were putting on our coats and overshoes in the kitchen, "andhere's a lantern. We don't keep no horse now, but there's feedleft."As we pushed through the deep snow into the barn, UncleBeamish said:"I've been tryin' my best to think where we are withoutaskin' any questions, and I'm dead beat. I don't remember nosuch house as this on the road.""Perhaps we got off the road," said I."That may be," said he, as we entered the barn. "It's a straightroad from Warburton to the pike near my sister's house, butthere's two other roads that branch off to the right and strikethe pike further off to the east. Perhaps we got on one of themin all that darkness and perplexin' whiteness, when it wasn'teasy to see whether we were keepin' a straight road or not."The horse neighed as we approached with a light."I would not be at all surprised," said I, "if this horse hadonce belonged here and that was the reason why, as soon ashe got a chance, he turned and made straight for his old home.""That isn't unlikely," said Uncle Beamish, "and that's thereason we did not pass Crocker's. But here we are, wherever itis, and here we've got to stay till mornin'."We found hay and oats and a pump in the corner of the wagon-house, and having put the horse in the stall and made him ascomfortable as possible with some old blankets, we returned tothe house, bringing our valises with us.Our supper was served in the sitting-room because there was agood fire there, and the servant told us we would have to eat byourselves, as "she" was not coming down."We'll excuse her," said Uncle Beamish, with an alacrity ofexpression that might have caused suspicion.We had a good supper, and were then shown a room on the firstfloor on the other side of the hall, where the servant said wewere to sleep.We sat by the stove awhile, waiting for developments, but asUncle Beamish's bedtime was rapidly approaching, he sent word tothe sick-chamber that he was coming up for his final visit.This time he stayed up-stairs but a few minutes."She's fast asleep," said he, "and the old woman says she'llcall me if I'm needed in the night, and you'll have to jump upsharp and overhaul that medicine-case if that happens."The next morning, and very early in the morning, I was awakedby Uncle Beamish, who stood at my side."Look here," said he, "I've been outside. It's stopped snowin'and it's clearin' off. I've been to the barn and I've fed thehorse, and I tell you what I'm in favor of doin'. There's nobodyup yit, and I don't want to stay here and make no explanations tothat old woman. I don't fancy gittin' into rows on Christmasmornin'. We've done all the good we can here, and the best thingwe can do now is to git away before anybody is up, and leave anote sayin' that we've got to go on without losin' time, and thatwe will send another doctor as soon as possible. My sister'sdoctor don't live fur away from her, and I know she will bewillin' to send for him. Then our duty will be done, and whatthe old woman thinks of us won't make no, difference to nobody.""That plan suits me," said I, rising. "I don't want to stayhere, and as I am not to be allowed to see the patient, there isno reason why I should stay. What we have done will more thanpay for our supper and lodgings, so that our consciences areclear.""But you must write a note," said Uncle Beamish. "Got anypaper?"I tore a leaf from my note-book, and went to the window,where it was barely light enough for me to see how to write."Make it short," said the old man. "I'm awful fidgety to gitoff."I made it very short, and then, valises in hand, we quietlytook our way to the kitchen."How this floor does creak!" said Uncle Beamish. "Git onyour overcoat and shoes as quick as you can, and we'll leave thenote on this table."I had just shaken myself into my overcoat when Uncle Beamish gavea subdued exclamation, and quickly turning, I saw entering thekitchen a female figure in winter wraps and carrying a hand-bag."By George!" whispered the old man, "it's the patient!"The figure advanced directly toward me."Oh, Dr. Glover!" she whispered, "I am so glad to get downbefore you went away!"I stared in amazement at the speaker, but even in the dim light Irecognized her. This was the human being whose expected presenceat the Collingwood mansion was taking me there to spendChristmas."Kitty!" I exclaimed--"Miss Burroughs, I mean,--what is themeaning of this?""Don't ask me for any meanings now," she said. "I want youand your uncle to take me to the Collingwoods'. I suppose youare on your way there, for they wrote you were coming. And oh!let us be quick, for I'm afraid Jane will come down, and she willbe sure to wake up aunty. I saw one of you go out to the barn,and knew you intended to leave, so I got ready just as fast as Icould. But I must leave some word for aunty.""I have written a note," said I. "But are you well enough totravel?""Just let me add a line to it," said she. "I am as well as Iever was."I gave her a pencil, and she hurriedly wrote something on thepaper which I had left on the kitchen table. Then, quicklyglancing around, she picked up a large carving-fork, and stickingit through the paper into the soft wood of the table, she left itstanding there."Now it won't blow away when we open the door," shewhispered. "Come on.""You cannot go out to the barn," I said; "we will bring upthe sleigh.""Oh, no, no, no," she answered, "I must not wait here. If Ionce get out of the house I shall feel safe. Of course I shallgo anyway, but I don't want any quarrelling on this Christmasmorning.""I'm with you there," said Uncle Beamish, approvingly. "Doctor,we can take her to the barn without her touching the snow. Lether sit in this arm-chair, and we can carry her between us.She's no weight."In half a minute the kitchen door was softly closed behindus, and we were carrying Miss Burroughs to the barn. My soul wasin a wild tumult. Dozens of questions were on my tongue, but Ihad no chance to ask any of them.Uncle Beamish and I returned to the porch for the valises,and then, closing the back door, we rapidly began to makepreparations for leaving."I suppose," said Uncle Beamish, as we went into the stable,leaving Miss Burroughs in the wagon-house, "that this business isall right? You seem to know the young woman, and she is of ageto act for herself.""Whatever she wants to do," I answered, "is perfectly right.You may trust to that. I do not understand the matter any morethan you do, but I know she is expected at the Collingwoods', andwants to go there.""Very good," said Uncle Beamish. "We'll git away fust andask explanations afterwards.""Dr. Glover," said Miss Burroughs, as we led the horse into thewagon-house, "don't put the bells on him. Stuff them gentlyunder the seat--as softly as you can. But how are we all to goaway? I have been looking at that sleigh, and it is intendedonly for two.""It's rather late to think of that, miss," said Uncle Beamish,"but there's one thing that's certain. We're both very polite toladies, but neither of us is willin' to be left behind on thistrip. But it's a good-sized sleigh, and we'll all pack in, wellenough. You and me can sit on the seat, and the doctor can standup in front of us and drive. In old times it was considered theright thing for the driver of the sleigh to stand up and do hisdrivin'."The baggage was carefully stowed away, and, after a look aroundthe dimly lighted wagon-house, Miss Burroughs and Uncle Beamishgot into the sleigh, and I tucked the big fur robe around them."I hate to make a journey before breakfast," said UncleBeamish, as I was doing this, "especially on Christmas mornin',but somehow or other there seems to be somethin' jolly about thisbusiness, and we won't have to wait so long for breakfast,nuther. It can't be far from my sister's, and we'll all stopthere and have breakfast. Then you two can leave me and go on.She'll be as glad to see any friends of mine as if they were herown. And she'll be pretty sure, on a mornin' like this, to havebuckwheat cakes and sausages."Miss Burroughs looked at the old man with a puzzled air, butshe asked him no questions."How are you going to keep yourself warm, Dr. Glover?" shesaid."Oh, this long ulster will be enough for me," I replied, "andas I shall stand up, I could not use a robe, if we had another."In fact, the thought of being with Miss Burroughs and theanticipation of a sleigh-ride alone with her after we hadleft Uncle Beamish with his sister, had put me into such a glowthat I scarcely knew it was cold weather."You'd better be keerful, doctor," said Uncle Beamish. "Youdon't want to git rheumatism in your j'ints on this Christmasmornin'. Here's this horse-blanket that we are settin' on. Wedon't need it, and you'd better wrap it round you, after you gitin, to keep your legs warm.""Oh, do! " said Miss Burroughs. "It may look funny, but wewill not meet anybody so early as this.""All right!" said I, "and now we are ready to start."I slid back the barn door and then led the horse outside.Closing the door, and making as little noise as possible in doingit, I got into the sleigh, finding plenty of room to stand up infront of my companions. Now I wrapped the horse-blanket aboutthe lower part of my body, and as I had no belt with which tosecure it, Miss Burroughs kindly offered to fasten it round mywaist by means of a long pin which she took from her hat. It isimpossible to describe the exhilaration that pervaded me as sheperformed this kindly office. After thanking her warmly, I tookthe reins and we started."It is so lucky," whispered Miss Burroughs, "that I happenedto think about the bells. We don't make any noise at all."This was true. The slowly uplifted hoofs of the horsedescended quietly into the soft snow, and the sleigh-runnersslipped along without a sound."Drive straight for the gate, doctor," whispered UncleBeamish. "It don't matter nothin' about goin' over flower-bedsand grass-plats in such weather."I followed his advice, for no roadway could be seen. But wehad gone but a short distance when the horse suddenly stopped."What's the matter?" asked Miss Burroughs, in a low voice."Is it too deep for him?""We're in a drift," said Uncle Beamish. "But it's not toodeep. Make him go ahead, doctor."I clicked gently and tapped the horse with the whip, but hedid not move."What a dreadful thing," whispered Miss Burroughs, leaningforward, "for him to stop so near the house! Dr. Glover, whatdoes this mean?" And, as she spoke, she half rose behind me."Where did Sir Rohan come from?""Who's he?" asked Uncle Beamish, quickly."That horse," she answered. "That's my aunt's horse. Shesold him a few days ago.""By George! " ejaculated Uncle Beamish, unconsciously raisinghis voice a little. "Wilson bought him, and his bringin' us hereis as plain as A B C. And now he don't want to leave home.""But he has got to do it," said I, jerking the horse's headto one side and giving him a cut with the whip."Don't whip him," whispered Miss Burroughs; "it always makeshim more stubborn. How glad I am I thought of the bells! Theonly way to get him to go is to mollify him.""But how is that to be done?" I asked anxiously. "You must give him sugar and pat his neck. If I had some sugarand could get out--""But you haven't it, and you can't git out," said UncleBeamish. "Try him again doctor!"I jerked the reins impatiently. "Go along!" said I. But hedid not go along."Haven't you got somethin' in your medicine-case you couldmollify him with?" said Uncle Beamish. "Somethin' sweetthat he might like?"For an instant I caught at this absurd suggestion, and mymind ran over the contents of my little bottles. If I had knownhis character, some sodium bromide in his morning feed might, bythis time, have mollified his obstinacy."If I could be free of this blanket," said I, fumbling at thepin behind me, "I would get out and lead him into the road.""You could not do it," said Miss Burroughs. "You might pullhis head off, but he wouldn't move. I have seen him tried."At this moment a window-sash in the second story of the housewas raised, and there, not thirty feet from us, stood an elderlyfemale, wrapped in a gray shawl, with piercing eyes shiningthrough great spectacles."You seem to be stuck," said she, sarcastically. "You areworse stuck than the fork was in my kitchen table."We made no answer. I do not know how Miss Burroughs lookedor felt, or what was the appearance of Uncle Beamish, but I knowI must have been very red in the face. I gave the horse apowerful crack and shouted to him to go on. There was no needfor low speaking now."You needn't be cruel to dumb animals," said the old lady,"and you can't budge him. He never did like snow,especially in going away from home. You cut a powerful queerfigure, young man, with that horse-blanket around you. You don'tlook much like a practising physician.""Miss Burroughs," I exclaimed, "please take that pin out ofthis blanket. If I can get at his head I know I can pull himaround and make him go."But she did not seem to hear me. "Aunty," she cried, "it's ashame to stand there and make fun of us. We have got a perfectright to go away if we want to, and we ought not to be laughedat."The old lady paid no attention to this remark."And there's that false doctor," she said. "I wonder how hefeels just now.""False doctor!" exclaimed Miss Burroughs. "I don't understand.""Young lady," said Uncle Beamish, "I'm no false doctor. Iintended to tell you all about it as soon as I got a chance, butI haven't had one. And, old lady, I'd like you to know that Idon't say I'm a doctor, but I do say I'm a nuss, and a good nuss,and you can't deny it."To this challenge the figure at the window made no answer."Catherine," said she, "I can't stand here and take cold, butI just want to know one thing: Have you positively made up yourmind to marry that young doctor in the horse-blanket?"This question fell like a bomb-shell into the middle of thestationary sleigh.I had never asked Kitty to marry me. I loved her with all myheart and soul, and I hoped, almost believed, that she loved me.It had been my intention, when we should be left together inthe sleigh this morning, after dropping Uncle Beamish at hissister's house, to ask her to marry me.The old woman's question pierced me as if it had been a flashof lightning coming through the frosty air of a winter morning.I dropped the useless reins and turned. Kitty's face was ablaze.She made a movement as if she was about to jump out of the sleighand flee."Oh, Kitty!" said I, bending down toward her, "tell her yes!I beg I entreat, I implore you to tell her yes! Oh, Kitty! ifyou don't say yes I shall never know another happy day."For one moment Kitty looked up into my face, and then said she:"It is my positive intention to marry him!"With the agility of a youth, Uncle Beamish threw the robefrom him and sprang out into the deep snow. Then, turning towardus, he took off his hat."By George!" said he, "you're a pair of trumps. I never didsee any human bein's step up to the mark more prompt. Madam," hecried, addressing the old lady, "you ought to be the proudestwoman in this county at seein' such a thing as this happen underyour window of a Christmas mornin'. And now the best thing thatyou can do is to invite us all in to have breakfast.""You'll have to come in," said she, "or else stay out thereand freeze to death, for that horse isn't going to take you away.And if my niece really intends to marry the young man, and hasgone so far as to start to run away with him,--and with a falsedoctor,--of course I've got no more to say about it, and youcan come in and have breakfast." And with that she shut downthe window."That's talkin'," said Uncle Beamish. "Sit still, doctor,and I'll lead him around to the back door. I guess he'll movequick enough when you want him to turn back."Without the slightest objection Sir Rohan permitted himselfto be turned back and led up to the kitchen porch."Now you two sparklin' angels get out," said Uncle Beamish,"and go in. I'll attend to the horse."Jane, with a broad grin on her face, opened the kitchen door."Merry Christmas to you both!" said she."Merry Christmas!" we cried, and each of us shook her by thehand."Go in the sitting-room and get warm," said Jane. "She'll bedown pretty soon."I do not know how long we were together in that sitting-room. Wehad thousands of things to say, and we said most of them.Among other things, we managed to get in some explanations of theoccurrences of the previous night. Kitty told her tale briefly.She and her aunt, to whom she was making a visit, and who wantedher to make her house her home, had had a quarrel two daysbefore. Kitty was wild to go to the Collingwoods', and the oldlady, who, for some reason, hated the family, was determined sheshould not go. But Kitty was immovable, and never gave up untilshe found that her aunt had gone so far as to dispose of herhorse, thus making it impossible to travel in such weather, therebeing no public conveyances passing the house. Kitty was anorphan, and had a guardian who would have come to her aid, butshe could not write to him in time, and, in utter despair, shewent to bed. She would not eat or drink, she would not speak,and she covered up her head."After a day and a night," said Kitty, "aunty got dreadfullyfrightened and thought something was the matter with my brain.Her family are awfully anxious about their brains. I knew shehad sent for the doctor and I was glad of it, for I thought hewould help me. I must say I was surprised when I first saw thatMr. Beamish, for I thought he was Dr. Morris. Now tell me aboutyour coming here.""And so," she said, when I had finished, "you had no ideathat you were prescribing for me! Please do tell me what werethose medicines you sent up to me and which I took like a trulygood girl.""I didn't know it at the time," said I, "but I sent you sixtydrops of the deepest, strongest love in a glass of water, and tengrains of perfect adoration.""Nonsense!" said Kitty, with a blush, and at that momentUncle Beamish knocked at the door."I thought I'd just step in and tell you," said he, "thatbreakfast will be comin' along in a minute. I found they weregoin' to have buckwheat cakes, anyway, and I prevailed on Jane toput sausages in the bill of fare. Merry Christmas to you both!I would like to say more, but here comes the old lady and Jane."The breakfast was a strange meal, but a very happy one. Theold lady was very dignified. She made no allusion to Christmasor to what had happened, but talked to Uncle Beamish aboutpeople in Warburton.I have a practical mind, and, in spite of the present joy, Icould not help feeling a little anxiety about what was to be donewhen breakfast was over. But just as we were about to rise fromthe table we were all startled by a great jingle of sleigh-bellsoutside. The old lady arose and stopped to the window."There!" said she, turning toward us. "Here's a prettykettle of fish! There's a two-horse sleigh outside, with a mandriving, and a gentleman in the back seat who I am sure is Dr.Morris, and he has come all the way on this bitter cold morningto see the patient I sent for him to come to. Now, who is goingto tell him he has come on a fool's errand?""Fool's errand!" I cried. "Every one of you wait in here andI'll go out and tell him."When I dashed out of doors and stood by the side of myuncle's sleigh, he was truly an amazed man."I will get in, uncle," said I, "and if you will let Johndrive the horses slowly around the yard, I will tell you how Ihappen to be here."The story was a much longer one than I expected it to be, andJohn must have driven those horses backward and forward for halfan hour."Well," said my uncle, at last, "I never saw your Kitty, butI knew her father and her mother, and I will go in and take alook at her. If I like her, I will take you all on to theCollingwoods', and drop Uncle Beamish at his sister's house.""I'll tell you what it is, young doctor," said Uncle Beamish, atparting, "you ought to buy that big roan horse. He has beena regular guardian angel to us this Christmas.""Oh, that would never do at all," cried Kitty. "His patientswould all die before he got there.""That is, if they had anything the matter with them," addedmy uncle.
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