News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1892-09-08

in his life cts that old Forsyth
woman. She's been here telling I'll
girls yOu're-Jack hesitated; l
wished to put it respectfully" ths
you're spOOning all over the wido
next door, and what a dance she wi
lead u.s." DR.. Brooke was the sol
of courtesy, but at this he roared:
"Confound that Forsythe woman
Here, you fellow, go and tell the house
maids and Thomas she's not allowe
to set her foot in this house agaiI
III not have her worrying and teas
ing you. And I-a-have no inter
tion-of-er-oh, dash it ALL"
That was much substantial com
fort TO the girls. Their pretty face
cleared up, and at dinner they squad
bled for the privilege of sitting mex
to their father, it being the duty @
one to sit at the head of the table.
The doctor had a good way t,
drive in the country that Afternoon
to see a patient, and so hehad leisur
to cogitate over the Forsythe Incl
dent. 1t was a shame, the docto
thought bitterly, that the old woman
could not let him be in peace. If h.
were what is vulgarly called marry
ing man, it might be excusable, bu
he had been the most prudent anC
circumspect of widowers, he was moi
yet fOrty-was the leading doctor il
Compton and was uncommonly wei
off. The doctor had a dim and unac
knOWledged feeling that liberty was tC
sweet to be trifled with He had nev.
er really been a free man in his life
until Amelia's death. He had
married Immediately upon his gradu.
alton. The dead and gone Amelia, it
must be confessed, had been a nag.
ging sort of woman. She was clev-
er in her way, and by wheedling and
winning had accomplished things she
never could have done by openly and
boldly fighting for them. Amelia
was always protesting her willingness
to give up her own way. Only she
never gave it up. The doctor was a
victim to that petty woman, subject
to headaches, over a abig-hearted, big
Drained man. When Amelia died the
doctor honestly fancied himself heart
broken.
DR.. Brooke drove two good horses
to his buggy, and this particular af-
ternoon he preferred to handle the
reins himself. He tickled the fanks
OF his trOtters with the whip in way
that made them fly over the road,
while he groaned in spirit. Nobody
could say that his girls lacked care.
An elderly lady, much above the
| orr n q IF
and attended the girls as a kind of
duenna. The doctors married sister,
who lived in Compton, selected their
clothes and was ready to take them
to lectures and concerts whenever
their father bought the tickets. DIR.
Brooke thought he had successfully
solved the problem of how to bring
up his motherless children. Besides,
there was so much intimacy between
them and their handsome, young
ia ther, and the girls themselves had
such sweet natures and so much ma
tive sense, that they grew in the right
| direction a s naturally as hardy young;
snPliut5s s5roy, IIIU,, UiSiI, sUrs.Is5
The doctor paid his visit and came
home and spent the evening with his
daughters in the cosy drawing-rOOm.
Dolly and Janet sang duets to him.
while Jack sprawled over the back of
his chair to describe the details of a
Glove of a fight" as Sir Lucius
O'Trigger says, in which a friend of
his lad lately been engaged. The
doctor thought, as he toasted his
toes before an open fire, that it would
take very fascinating woman to
charm him into matrimony.
Dolly's eyes were unusually bright
that night, and suddenly she began
to cough. The cough disturbed the
doctors pleasant conditions. There
was a great deal of scarlet fever
abroad, and in a week, pretty Dolly
was raving and tossing in her pretty
white bed with the fever.
Mrs. Chepston, DR.. Brooke's mar
ried sister, could not come to the girl
because of her own houseful of little
ones. The doctor hired a profession
al nurse, who, with Bridget Ryan,
the duenna, were to take care of Dol
ly; but Dolly took a violent dislike
to the nurse, and Bridget was seized
with rheumatic fever. As for Jack
and Janet, no power could have kept
them out of their dear DollF's room
All these things came upon the doc
tor in two or three days, just as he
was driven with half dozen very i'll
patients. He went upon his rounds
with white and anxious face, and
fear and anguish seized upon his soul.
His little Dolly! his best loved, so
he thought.
1t was the second evening after
Bridget's collapse, when Mrs. Ender-
by, sitting reading by her evening
lamp, heard a fearful pull at her door
bell. 1t started her so that she got
up and ran to the door. AS she
opened it she saw Jack Brooke's pale,
boyish face staring at her. The two
families had speaking acquaintance.
"For Gods sake, Mrs. Enderby,"
he cried, "come over to Janet. She
has fallen down and hurt herself, and
Bridget's i'll. l must go and find
father: he's gone down to the hospi-
tai"
Without waiting for any other head
covering than her widows cap, which
was vastly becoming, although she
never suspected it, Mrs. Enderby
followed Jack across her lawn to DR..
Brooke's house and upstairs, where,
in Dolly's room, lying across the bed,
was Janet in a dead faint, with Dolly
screaming with excitement and sort
of delirium. The nurse was vainly
trying to bring Janet to. Her right
knee had been hurt, and she had
tainted with the pain.
Mrs. Enderby's first thought was
Dolly. She went up 70 her, and lay
ing her cold hand on DClly's throb-
bing temples spoke to her. The young
widow had "a winning voice, and poor
Dolly stopped her hysterical cries at
the sound of it.
Dolly" said she, "what is the
matter with you? This is no way to
do. You are too old"
Dolly did not half comprehend her
words, but she answered:
GLOW cool and sweet your hands
are. Give me some water. Is Janet
ill, toO2"
Mrs. Enderby did not answer the
question. She soOthed her into quiet
ness, and then turned her attention
90 Janet. When DR.. Brooke rushed
upstairs he found Janet lying with
her head on Mrs. Enderby's shoulder
and struggling bravely to bear the
pain.
The instincts of the doctor and the
! II. I,