Waterbury evening Democrat., 1892-12-20
MY FRIEND, THE DOCTOR.
How He Was Caught Making
 Moonshine Whisky.

Pine Hills physician. The balsam which resin is thought to give to the at- mosphere was not natural antidote for malaria, as the shriveled, hide bound look of majority of the people of that region indicated. Even the hogs were generally thin and puny and the cattle were apparently Hneal descendants of the stock whose blue meat furnished food for soldiers in the days of the southern confederacy. So, at a crossroads, in g. wild waste of pines, the doctor had erected double log house, where he lived with his wife and one daughter. Here he had built up, as he expressed it, "a lucrative practice" Though numerous, his pa tients were all poor, and it seemed strange that ne should thrive so well; yet he averrcd that he never took truck for bill-only cash-and I'm pretty well fixed. as you can see." He was well fixed. His house was neatly furnished as are many such houses in these bacllwoods, rough without, and attractive within-and he had a farm of two hundred acres, planted in corn, which he said never failed of a crop" His daughter was pretty girl, well grown, with a natural grace and un- affected hospitality that was charming; her mother in feature and manner, so like hcr-she seemed not day older that no one would suspect the real re- lationship.
 There was no reason why he should not be happy, he said, though settled down in the woods, away from so- called civilization. At any rate he was satisfied, while his wife and daugh- ter were delighted with their hermit like existence. The doctor was a ven- erable man. His beard and forehead l were Tennysonian, and the intelligent stranger, coming upon him here. was | half inclined to doubt the evidence of his own eyes. He was well educated, too, and talked like a book" as the | natives declared among themselves when recounting his accomplishments. The doctors home was situated be- tween two railway lines, the distance between them being eighty miles. was riding through the wilderness one afternoon in autumn; my horse-a flea bitten, spavincd, iron-gray relic, which had purchased solely for the purpose of the journcy-was ambling down a | rocky steep to reach brook that flowed at the foot. He stumbled, fell, rolled over. remained on the ground, unable to move; he rolled on and only l stopped when he reached the water, where he lay still. attempted to rise. "Nou cant do it," said a person whose voice bespoke that he was near me. ''I saw you fall and know you got it in the hip. A fracture" he pro- | nounced, after an examination. Let | mi nd talE | you to my house."
 l l thanked him. My horsew I sug- gested, pointing to the animal. prone on the ground.
 "IIis necll's broken. It was the most l jury is as interesting, l will have a readable story for my next letter to the medical journal
 You are a physician, then?"
 "Yes. It's not much loss." he re- marked as l gave a sympathetic look, hdespite my own almost mortal pain, al the old grays body. lies served man many years and is now gone to serve the buzzards. I'll send one of my hands down to skin him, though hes hardly worth it."
 was put to bed. The case proved an interesting one, and the doctor cared for me with a Skillful hand, the wife doing me a mothers part and the daughter lcssening pain by her cheer full presence and entertaining converse ton.
 Days waned; frost glistened in the moonlight, then glittered in the morn ing sun and melted into the purple haze which wrapped the pines in it: embrace and scattered it's filmy thread: among the red and golden glory of oal and hickory leaves. Days, succeeding themselves, became weeks; the week. grew into month.
 One evening, when l was able to si up and hobble about, occupied chai1 beside an open window. A fire wa' burning. Opposite me sat the daugh ter reading. 1 felt that it would be nC \ great punishment were l doomed tC sit there forever looking at her. He face was oval, brown, but of marbl, smoothncss; hair and eyes black Thi photograph is conventional but true was not in love with her and cal heace add that she Was beautiful.
 Are you not afraid you will catcl cold with that window up?" she spoke l closing her book and laying it on he lap.
 No" I answered. ''The air Ii pleasant; besides love the landscape aad imagine 1 cannot see it to goo, advantage with the sash down." Sh knew that l had been gazing at he face instead of the landscape, but sai nothing.
 Are you named for Shakespeare Eosalind?" l asked, that being he name.
 Yes Father knows this book" tar ping the volume with her finger. "b, heart, and in a dreamy moment name me for that splendid woman. But sh had too much spirit for me-"
 'I don't know about that" I re sponded, in tone to indicate my doub of htA- estimate of herself.
 PRINTING,