Kitabı oku: «The Story of a Doctor's Telephone—Told by His Wife», sayfa 2
“Well, what do you think of that!” This was addressed to someone at the other end of the line, but it came clearly to Mary's ear and its intonation said volumes.
“You're the very identical woman that told me when I 'phoned awhile ago that you'd send him right down. It's the very same voice.”
“There is a mistake somewhere,” reiterated Mary, patiently, “but I'll send the doctor as soon as he gets in if you will give me your name.”
“I'll tell ye agin, then, that he's to come to Lige Thornton's.”
“Very well. I'll send him,” and Mary left the 'phone much mystified. “She was in dead earnest – and so was I. I can't understand it.” Glancing out of the window she saw her tall, young daughter coming up the walk. The solution came with lightning quickness – strange she didn't think of that, Gertrude had answered. She remembered now that others had thought their voices very much alike, especially over the 'phone. “If the woman had not talked in such a cyclonic way I would have thought of it,” she reflected.
When the young girl entered the room her mother said, “Gertrude, you answered the 'phone awhile ago, didn't you?”
“About twenty minutes ago. Some woman was so anxious for father to come right away that I just ran down to the office to see that he went.”
“That was very thoughtful of you, dear, but it's little credit we're getting for it.”
She related the dialogue that had just taken place and mother and daughter laughed in sympathy.
“Why, Mamma, we couldn't forget if we wanted to. That telephone is an Old Man of the Sea to both of us – is now and ever shall be, world without end.”
“But did you find your father at the office?”
“Yes, and waited till he fixed up some medicine for two patients already waiting, then shooed him out before some more came in. I wanted to get it off my mind.”
“I'm glad he is on his way. Now stay within hearing of the 'phone, dearie, till I finish my work up-stairs.”
“All right, Mamma, I'm going to make a cake now, but I can hear the 'phone plainly from the kitchen.”
It wasn't long till a ring was heard. Gertrude dusted the flour from her hands and started. “Which 'phone was it?” she asked the maid.
“I think it was the Farmers',” said Mollie, hesitating.
So to the Farmers' 'phone went Gertrude.
“Hello.”
No answer.
“Hello.”
Silence.
She clapped the receiver up and hurried to the Citizens' 'phone.
“Hello.”
“Is this Dr. Blank's?”
“Yes.”
“Is he there?”
“No, he was called – ” Here a loud ring from the other 'phone sounded.
“He was called down to – ” said Gertrude rapidly, then paused, unable to think of the name at the instant.
“If you will tell me where he went, I'll just 'phone down there for him,” said the voice.
A second peal from the other 'phone.
“Yes, yes!” said Gertrude impatiently. “O, I didn't mean that for you,” she hurried apologetically. “The other 'phone is calling, and I'm so confused I can't think. Will you excuse me just an instant till I see what is wanted?”
“Certainly.”
She flew to the Farmers' 'phone.
“Is this Dr. Blank's?”
“Yes.”
“Good while a-answerin',” grumbled a voice.
“I did answer but no one answered me.”
“Where's the doctor?”
“He's down in the east part of town – will be back in a little bit.”
“Well, when he comes tell him – just hold the 'phone a minute, will you, till I speak to my wife.”
“All right.” But she put the receiver swiftly up and rushed back to the waiting man. She could answer him and get back by the time the other was ready for her.
“Hello, still there?”
“Yes.”
“I've thought of the name – father went to Elijah Thornton's.”
“Thornton's – let's see – have you a telephone directory handy – could you give me their number?”
“Wait a minute, I'll see.” She raced through the pages, – “yes, here it is.”
A violent peal from the Farmers' 'phone. “He'll think I'm still hunting for the number,” she thought, letting the receiver hang and rushing to the other 'phone.
“Hello.”
“Thought you was a-goin' to hold the 'phone. I've had a turrible time gittin' any answer.”
“I've had a turrible time, too,” thought poor Gertrude.
“Tell the doctor to call me up,” and he gave his name and his number.
“All right, I'll tell him.” She clapped the receiver up lest there might be more to follow and sped back.
“Here it is,” she announced calmly, “Elijah Thornton, number 101.”
“Thank you, I'm afraid I've put you to a good deal of trouble.”
“Not at all.”
As she went back to her cake she said to herself, “Two telephones ringing at once can certainly make things interesting.”
One day in mid winter Mary sat half dreaming before the glowing coals. Snow had fallen all through the previous night and today there had been good coasting for the boys and girls.
Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.
She started up and went to answer it.
“Is this you, Mary?”
“Yes.”
“I'll be out of the office about twenty minutes.”
“Very well.”
Sometimes Mary wished her husband would be a little more explicit. She had a vague sort of feeling that central, or whoever should chance to hear him make this announcement to her so often, might think she requested or perhaps demanded it; might think she wanted to know every place her husband went.
In about half an hour the 'phone rang again, two rings.
John ought to be back. Should she take it for granted? It would be safer to put the receiver to her ear and listen for her husband's voice.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Is this you Dr. Blank?”
“Looks like it.”
“We want ye to come down to our house right away.”
“Who is this?”
“W'y, this is Mrs. Peters.”
“Mrs. Peters? Oh yes,” said the doctor, recognizing the voice now.
“What's the matter down there, grandmother?”
“W'y – my little grandson, Johnny, was slidin' down hill on a board and got a splinter in his setter.”
“He did, eh?”
“Yes, he did, and a big one, too.”
“Well, I'll be down there right away. Have some boiled water.”
Mary turned away from the telephone that it might not register her low laughter as she put the receiver in its place. The next instant she took it down again with twinkling eyes and listened. Yes, the voices were silent, it would be safe. She rang two rings.
“Hello,” said her husband's voice.
“John,” said Mary, almost in a whisper, “for English free and unadorned, commend me to a little boy's grandmother!”
Two laughs met over the wire, then two receivers clicked.
One day Mary came in from a walk and noticed at once, a vacant place on the wall where the Farmers' 'phone had hung. She had heard rumors of a merger of the two systems and had fervently hoped that they might merge soon and forever.
“Look! Mamma,” said Gertrude, pointing to the wall.
“Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
One telephone is taken away!”
she chortled in her joy.
(The small boy of the household had been reading “Alice” and consequently declaiming the Jabberwock from morning till night, till its weird strains had become fixed in the various minds of the household and notably in Gertrude's.)
“It will simplify matters,” said her mother, smiling, “but liberty is not for us. That tuneful peal will still ring on,” and as she looked at the Citizens' 'phone the peal came.
CHAPTER III
One Monday evening the doctor and his wife sat chatting cosily before the fire. In the midst of their conversation, Mary looked up suddenly. “I had a queer little experience this morning, John, I want to tell you about it.”
“Tell ahead,” said John, propping his slippered feet up on the fender.
“Well, I got my pen and paper ready to write a letter to Mrs. E. I wanted to write it yesterday afternoon and tell her some little household incidents just while they were taking place, as she is fond of the doings and sayings of boys and they are more realistic if reported in the present tense. But I couldn't get at it yesterday afternoon. When I started to write it this morning it occurred to me to date the letter Sunday afternoon and write it just as I would have done yesterday – so I did. When I had got it half done or more I heard the door-bell and going to open it I saw through the large glass – ”
Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.
The doctor went to the 'phone.
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Where do you live?”
“I'll be right down.”
He went back, hastily removed his slippers and began putting on his shoes. Mary saw that he had clean forgotten her story. Very well. It wouldn't take more than a minute to finish it – there would be plenty of time while he was getting into his shoes – but if he was not enough interested to refer to it again she certainly would not. In a few minutes the doctor was gone and Mary went to bed. An hour or two later his voice broke in upon her slumber. “Back again,” he said as he settled down upon his pillow. In a minute he exclaimed, “Say, Mary, what was the rest of that story?”
“O, don't get me roused up. I'm so sleepy,” she said drowsily.
“Well, I'd like to hear it.” The interest in her little story which had not been exhibited at the proper time was being exhibited now with a vengeance. She sighed and said, “I can't think of it now – tell you in the morning. Good night,” and turned away.
When morning came and they were both awake, the doctor again referred to the unfinished story.
“It's lost interest for me. It wasn't a story to start with, just a little incident that seemed odd – ”
“Well, let's have it.”
“Well, then,” said Mary, “I was writing away when the door-bell rang. I went to open it and saw through the glass the laundry man – ”
Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.
“Go on!” exclaimed her husband, hurriedly, “I'll wait till you finish.”
“I'll not race through a story in any such John Gilpin style,” said Mary, tartly. “Go, John!”
The doctor arose and went.
“No.”
“I think not.”
“Has she any fever?”
“All right, I'll be down in a little bit.”
Then he went back. “Now you can finish,” he said.
“Finis is written here,” said Mary. “Don't say story to me again!” So Mary's story remained unfinished.
But a few days later, when she was in the buggy with her husband she relented. “Now that the 'phone can't cut me short, John, I will finish about the odd incident just because you wanted to know. But it will fall pretty flat now, as all things do with too many preliminary flourishes.”
“Go on,” said the doctor.
“Well, you know I told you I dated my letter back to Sunday afternoon, and was writing away when I heard the door-bell ring. As I started toward the door I saw the laundry man standing there. I was conscious of looking at him in astonishment and in a dazed sort of way as I walked across the large room to open the door. I am sure he must have noticed the expression on my face. When I opened the door he asked as he always does, ‘Any laundry?’”
“‘Any laundry today?’ The words were on my tongue's end but I stopped them in time. You see it was really Sunday to me, so deep into the spirit of it had I got, and it was with a little shock that I came back to Monday again in time to answer the man in a rational way. And now my story's done.”
“Not a bad one, either,” said John, “I'm glad you condescended to finish it.”
The doctor came home at ten o'clock and went straight to bed and to sleep. At eleven he was called.
“What is it?” he asked gruffly.
“It's time for Silas to take his medicine and he won't do it.”
“Won't, eh?”
“No, he vows he won't.”
“Well, let him alone for a while and then try again.”
About one came another ring.
“We've both been asleep, Doctor, but I've been up fifteen minutes trying to get him to take his medicine and he won't do it. He says it's too damned nasty and that he don't need it anyhow.”
“Tell him I say he's a mighty good farmer, but a devilish poor doctor.”
“I don't know what to do. I can't make him take it.”
“You'll have to let him alone for awhile I guess, maybe he'll change his mind after awhile.”
At three o'clock the doctor was again at the telephone.
“Doctor, he just will not take it,” the voice was now quite distressed. “I can't manage him at all.”
“You ought to manage him. What's a wife for? Well, go to bed and don't bother him or me any more tonight.”
But early next morning Silas' wife telephoned again.
“I thought I ought to tell you that he hasn't taken it yet.”
“He'll get well anyway. Don't be a bit uneasy about him,” said the doctor, laughing, as he rung off.
“It's time to go, John.”
Mary was drawing on her gloves. She looked at her moveless husband as he sat before the crackling blaze in the big fireplace.
“This is better than church,” he made reply.
“But you promised you would go tonight. Come on.”
“It isn't time yet, is it?”
“The last bell will ring before we get there.”
“Well, let's wait till all that singing's over. That just about breaks my back.”
Mary sat down resignedly. If they missed the singing perhaps John would not look at his watch and sigh so loud during the sermon. And it might not be a bad idea to miss the singing for another reason. The last time John had gone to church he had astonished her by sliding up beside her, taking hold of the hymn-book and singing! It happened to be his old favorite, “Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood.”
Of course it was lovely that he should want to sing it with her – but the way he sang it! He was in the wrong key and he came out two or three syllables behind on most of the lines, but undismayed by the sudden curtailment went boldly ahead on the next. And Mary had been much relieved when the hymn was ended and the book was closed. So now she waited very patiently for her husband to make some move toward starting. By and by he got up and they went out. No sooner was the door closed behind them than the “ting-a-ling-ling-ling” was heard. The doctor threw open the door and went back. Mary, waiting at the threshold, heard one side of the dialogue.
“Yes.”
“Down where?”
“Shake up your 'phone. I can't hear you.”
“That's better. Now what is it?”
“Swallowed benzine, did she? How much?.. That won't kill her. Give her some warm water to drink. And give her a spoonful of mustard – anything to produce vomiting… She has? That's all right. Tell her to put her finger down her throat and vomit some more… No, I think it won't be necessary for me to come down… You would? Well, let me hear again in the next hour or two, and if you still want me I'll come. Good-bye.”
They walked down the street and as they drew near the office they saw the figure of the office boy in the doorway silhouetted against the light within. He was looking anxiously in their direction. Suddenly he disappeared and the faint sound of a bell came to their ears. They quickened their pace and as they came up the boy came hurriedly to the door again.
“Is that you, Doctor?” he asked, peering out.
“Yes.”
“I told a lady at the 'phone to wait a minute, she's 'phoned twice.” Mary waited at the door while her husband went into the office and over to the 'phone.
“Yes. What is it?.. No. No. No!… Listen to me… Be still and listen to me! She's in no more danger of dying than you are. She couldn't die if she tried… Be still, I say, and listen to me!” He stamped his foot mightily. Mary laughed softly to herself. “Now don't hang over her and sympathize with her; that's exactly what she don't need. And don't let the neighbors hang around her either. Shut the whole tea-party out… Well, tell 'em I said so… I don't care a damn what they think. Your duty and mine is to do the very best we can for that girl. Now remember… Yes, I'll be down on the nine o'clock train tomorrow morning. Good-bye.” He joined his wife at the door. “If anybody wants me, come to the church,” he said, turning to the boy.
Mary laid her hand within her husband's arm and they started on. They met a man who stopped and asked the doctor how soon he would be at the office, as he was on his way there to get some medicine.
“I'd better go back,” said the doctor and back they went. It seemed to Mary that her husband might move with more celerity in fixing up the medicine. He was deliberation itself as he cut and arranged the little squares of paper. Still more deliberately he heaped the little mounds of white powder upon them. She looked on anxiously. At last he was ready to fold them up! No, he reached for another bottle. He took out the cork, but his spatula was not in sight. Nowise disturbed, he shifted bottles and little boxes about on the table.
“Can't you use your knife, Doctor?” asked Mary.
“O, I'll find it – it's around here somewhere.” In a minute or two the missing spatula was discovered under a paper, and then the doctor slowly, so slowly, dished out little additions to the little mounds. Then he laid the spatula up, put the cork carefully back in the bottle, turned in his chair and put two questions to the waiting man, turned back and folded the mounds in the squares with the most painstaking care. In spite of herself Mary fidgeted and when the powders with instructions were delivered and the man had gone, she rose hastily. “Do come now before somebody else wants something.”
The singing was over and the sermon just beginning when they reached the church. It progressed satisfactorily to the end. The doctor usually made an important unit in producing that “brisk and lively air which a sermon inspires when it is quite finished.” But tonight, a few minutes before the finale came, Mary saw the usher advancing down the aisle. He stopped at their seat and bending down whispered something to the doctor, who turned and whispered something to his wife.
“No, I'll stay and walk home with the Rands. I see they're here,” she whispered back.
The doctor rose and went out. “Who's at the office?” he asked, as he walked away with the boy.
“She's not there yet, she telephoned. I told her you was at church.”
“Did she say she couldn't wait?”
“She said she had been at church too, but a bug flew in her ear and she had to leave, and she guessed you'd have to leave too, because she couldn't stand it. She said it felt awful.”
“Where is she?”
“She was at a house by the Methodist church, she said, when she 'phoned to see if you was at the office. When I told her I'd get you from the other church, she said she'd be at the office by the time you got there.”
And she was, sitting uneasily in a big chair.
“Doctor, I've had a flea in my ear sometimes, but this is a different proposition. Ugh! Please get this creature out now. It feels as big as a bat. Ugh! It's crawling further in, hurry!”
“Maybe we'd better wait a minute and see if it won't be like some other things, in at one ear and out at the other.”
“O, hurry, it'll get so far in you can't reach it.”
“Turn more to the light,” commanded the doctor, and in a few seconds he held up the offending insect.
“O, you only got a little of it!”
“I got it all.”
“Well, it certainly felt a million times bigger than that,” and she departed radiantly happy.
CHAPTER IV
One day in early spring the doctor surprised his wife by asking her if she would like to take a drive.
“In March? The roads are not passable yet, surely.”
But the doctor assured her that the roads were getting pretty good except in spots. “I have such a long journey ahead of me today that I want you to ride out as far as Centerville and I can pick you up as I come back.”
“That's seven or eight miles. I'll go. I can stop at Dr. Parkin's and chat with Mrs. Parkin till you come.”
Accordingly a few minutes later the doctor and Mary were speeding along through the town which they soon left far behind them.
About two miles out they saw a buggy down the road ahead of them which seemed to be at a stand-still. When they drew near they found a woman at the horses' heads with a broken strap in her hand. She was gazing helplessly at the buggy which stood hub-deep in mud. She recognized the doctor and called out, “Dr. Blank, if ever I needed a doctor in my life, it's now.”
“Stuck fast, eh?”
The doctor handed the reins to his wife and got out.
“I see – a broken single-tree. Well, I always unload when I get stuck, so the first thing we do we'll take this big lummox out of here,” he said picking his way to the buggy. The lummox rose to her feet with a broad grin and permitted herself to be taken out. She was a fat girl about fourteen years old.
“My! I'll bet she weighs three hundred pounds,” observed the doctor when she was landed, which was immediately resented. Then he took the hitching-rein and tied the tug to the broken end of the single-tree; after which he went to the horses' heads and commanded them to “Come on.” They started and the next instant the vehicle was on terra firma. Mother and daughter gave the doctor warm thanks and each buggy went its separate way.
Mary was looking about her. “The elms have a faint suspicion that spring is coming; the willows only are quite sure of it,” she said, noting their tender greenth which formed a soft blur of color, the only color in all the gray landscape. No, there is a swift dash of blue, for a jay has settled down on the top of a rail just at our travelers' right.
Soon they were crossing a long and high bridge spanning a creek which only a week before had been a raging torrent; the drift, caught and held by the trunks of the trees, and the weeds and grasses all bending in one direction, told the story. But the waters had subsided and now lay in deep, placid pools.
“Stop, John, quick!” commanded Mary when they were about half way across. The doctor obeyed wondering what could be the matter. He looked at his wife, who was gazing down into the pool beneath.
“I suppose I'm to stop while you count all the fish you can see.”
“I was looking at that lovely concave sky down there. See those two white clouds floating so serenely across the blue far, far below the tip-tops of the elm trees.”
The doctor drove relentlessly on.
“Another mudhole,” said Mary after a while, “but this time the travelers tremble on the brink and fear to launch away.”
When they came up they found a little girl standing by the side of the horse holding up over its back a piece of the harness. She held it in a very aimless and helpless way. “See,” said Mary, “she doesn't know what to do a bit more than I should. I wonder if she can be alone.”
The doctor got out and went forward to help her and discovered a young man sitting cozily in the carriage. He glanced at him contemptuously.
“Your harness is broken, have you got a string?” he asked abruptly.
“N-n-o, I haven't,” said the youth feeling about his pockets.
“Take your shoe-string. If you haven't got one I'll give you mine,” and he set his foot energetically on the hub of the wheel to unlace his shoe.
“Why, I've got one here, I guess,” and the young man lifted a reluctant foot. The doctor saw and understood. The little sister was to fix the harness in order to save her brother's brand new shoes from the mud.
“You'd better fix that harness yourself, my friend, and fix it strong,” was the doctor's parting injunction as he climbed into the buggy and started on.
“I don't like the looks of this slough of despond,” said Mary. The next minute the horses were floundering through it, tugging with might and main. Now the wheels have sunk to the hubs and the horses are straining every muscle.
“Merciful heaven!” gasped Mary. At last they were safely through, and the doctor looking back said, “That is the last great blot on our civilization – bad roads.”
After a while there came from across the prairie the ascending, interrogative boo-oo-m of a prairie chicken not far distant, while from far away came the faint notes of another. And now a different note, soft, melodious and mournful is heard.
“How far away do you think that dove is?” asked the doctor.
“It sounds as if it might be half a mile.”
“It is right up here in this tree in the field.”
“Is it,” said Mary, looking up. “Yes, I see, it's as pretty and soft as its voice. But I'm getting sunburned, John. How hot a March day can get!”
“Only two more miles and good road all the way.”
A few minutes more and Mary was set down at Centerville, “I'll be back about sunset,” announced her husband as he drove off.
A very pleasant-faced woman answered the knock at the door. She had a shingle in her hand and several long strips of muslin over her arm. She smilingly explained that she didn't often meet people at the door with a shingle but that she was standing near the door when the knock came.
Mary, standing by the bed and removing hat and gloves, looked about her.
“What are you doing with that shingle and all this cotton and stuff, Mrs. Parkin?” she asked.
“Haven't you ever made a splint?”
“A splint? No indeed, I'm not equal to that.”
“That's what I'm doing now. There's a boy with a broken arm in the office in the next room.”
“Oh, your husband has his office here at the house.”
“Yes, and it's a nuisance sometimes, too, but one gets used to it.”
“I'll watch you and learn something new about the work of a doctor's wife.”
“You'll learn then to have a lot of pillow slips and sheets on hand. Old or new, Dr. Parkin just tears them up when he gets in a hurry – it doesn't matter to him what goes.”
The doctor's wife put cotton over the whole length of the shingle and wound the strips of muslin around it; then taking a needle and thread she stitched it securely. Mary sat in her chair watching the process with much interest. “You have made it thicker in some places than in others,” she said.
“Yes; that is to fit the inequalities of the arm.” Mary looked at her admiringly. “You are something of an artist,” she observed.
Just as Mrs. Parkin finished it her husband appeared in the doorway.
“Is it done?” he asked.
“It's just finished.”
“May I see you put it on, Doctor?” asked Mary, rising and coming forward.
“Why, good afternoon, Mrs. Blank. I'm glad to see you out here. Yes, come right in. How's the doctor?”
“Oh, he is well and happy – I think he expects to cut off a foot this afternoon.”
A boy with a frightened look on his face stood in the doctor's office with one sleeve rolled up. The doctor adjusted the fracture, then applied the splint while his wife held it steady until he had made it secure. When the splint was in place and the boy had gone a messenger came to tell the doctor he was wanted six miles away.
About half an hour afterward a little black-eyed woman came in and said she wanted some more medicine like the last she took.
“The doctor's gone,” said Mrs. Parkin, “and will not be back for several hours.”
“Well, you can get it for me, can't you?”
“Do you know the name of it?”
“No, but I believe I could tell it if I saw it,” said the patient, going to the doctor's shelves and looking closely at the bottles and phials with their contents of many colors. She took up a three-ounce bottle. “This is like the other bottle and I believe the medicine is just the same color. Yes, I'm sure it is,” she said, holding it up to the light. Mary looked at her and then at Mrs. Parkin.
“I wouldn't like to risk it,” said the latter lady.
“Oh, I'm not afraid. I don't want to wait until the doctor comes and I know this must be like the other. It's exactly the same color.”
“My good woman,” said Mary, “you certainly will not risk that. It might kill you.”
“No, Mrs. Dawson, you must either wait till the doctor comes or come again,” said Mrs. Parkin. The patient grumbled a little about having to make an extra trip and took her leave.
When the door had closed behind her Mary asked the other doctor's wife if she often had patients like that.
“Oh, yes. People come here when the doctor is away and either want me to prescribe for them or to prescribe for themselves.”
“You don't do it, do you?”
“Sometimes I do, when I am perfectly sure what I am doing. Having the office here in the house so many years I couldn't help learning a few things.”
“I wouldn't prescribe for anything or anybody. I'd be afraid of killing somebody.” About an hour later Mary, looking out of the window, saw a wagon stopping at the gate. It contained a man and a woman and two well-grown girls.
“Hello!” called the man.
“People call you out instead of coming in. That is less trouble,” observed Mary. The doctor's wife went to the door.
“Is Doc at home?”
“No, he has gone to the country.”
“How soon will he be back?”
“Not before supper time, probably.”
The man whistled, then looked at his wife and the two girls.
“Well, Sally,” he said, “I guess we'd better git out and wait fur 'im.”
“W'y, Pa, it'll be dark long before we git home, if we do.”
“I can't help that. I'm not agoin' to drive eight miles tomorry or next day nuther.”
“If ye'd 'a started two hour ago like I wanted ye to do, maybe Doc'd 'a been here and we c'd 'a been purty nigh home by this time.”
“Shet up! I told ye I wasn't done tradin' then.”
“It don't take me all day to trade a few aigs for a jug o' m'lasses an' a plug o' terbacker.”
For answer the head of the house told his family to “jist roll out now.” They rolled out and in a few minutes they had all rolled in. Mrs. Parkin made a heroic effort not to look inhospitable which made Mary's heroic effort not to look amused still more heroic.
When at last the afternoon was drawing to a close Mary went out into the yard to rest. She wished John would come. Hark! There is the ring of horses' hoofs down the quiet road. But these are white horses, John's are bays. She turns her head and looks into the west. Out in the meadow a giant oak-tree stands between her and the setting sun. Its upper branches are outlined against the grey cloud which belts the entire western horizon, while its lower branches are sharply etched against the yellow sky beneath the grey.
What a calm, beautiful sky it was!
She thought of some lines she had read more than once that morning … a bit from George Eliot's Journal:
“How lovely to look into that brilliant distance and see the ship on the horizon seeming to sail away from the cold and dim world behind it right into the golden glory! I have always that sort of feeling when I look at sunset. It always seems to me that there in the west lies a land of light and warmth and love.”
A carriage was now coming down the road at great speed. Mary saw it was her husband and went in to put on her things. In a few minutes more she was in the buggy and they were bound for home. It was almost ten o'clock when they got there. The trip had been so hard on the horses that all the spirit was taken out of them. The doctor, too, was exceedingly tired. “Forty-two miles is a long trip to make in an afternoon,” he said.
