The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1892-02-10
CHAPTER XVI

tirely different individuals, barring few
physical and moral characteristics which
marked him at all times.
The urban DR.. Milbank was faultlessly
arrayed, clean-shaven, gray-eyed, method
Ical man of established reputation, who
had office hours, which filed his hand
some waiting-room TO its full capacity,
and who went to see his patients, ont Of
Office hours, in a smart little coupe, with
bebuttoned driver on the box.
The rural DR.. Mibank was a long
legged, light-hearted boy, with an invinci-
Bile scorn for dress coats, polished shoes
and stiff hats, who luxuriated in fair
leather shoes and white flannel shirts, and
climbed mountains, rowed skifs, or fshed
for mythical black fish In the most I'M
likely waters with infinite patience and
gusto.
This DR.. Milbank, urban or rural (al-
ways urbane), had theory which he put
into practice religiously every August that
rolled around. His theory was that
mans brain, to be kept in good working
order, must be entirely relieved of all ten
sion periodically, as one lets down fiddle
strings -presumably to keep them from
swapping.
The relief his brain needed was to get
away from people. Eleven months out of
the twelve he was giving his brain, his
energy, his sy mpathy to the people-peo-
pie with real ills and people with ianciful
Ills.
The twelfth was his. In it he would do
no manner of work. That was easy enough
to say and to do, all the easier for the fact
that Dr. Milbank's practice was largely
confined to the class which would sooner
be caught pi cking lock than remain in
town during the heated term.
about what he did among the poor and
suffering he never let his right hand Cos
sip WITH his Lett
But how to get away from peoplel That
was the problem that had marred his one
month out of the twelve for years, until
chance sent him one day quaint-looking
little old woman, bent of back and care
worn OF face, but patient and Sentle-un-
speakably gentle-with it all. She came
TO him 10 be healed.
She offered this successful city doctor
her modest fee foT the skill which had
relieved her Of years Of suffering. with
timid suggestion by way OF supplement.
This is precious poor paw, doctor" she
said, laying her offering on the table and
ewing it askance, "and l wish I could
make it up to YOU in some other way l
could in one; but you're not likely to
fancy that way, unless you get about as
tired of folks and noise as l would if l
lived here"
81 do get very tired of them" had said
the city doctor, looking trihe inpatient
ly at this plain country Woman, who
seemed inclined TO consume more of his
precious time than she was entitled to.
Then perhaps what 1 am going to pro-
pose won't strike you as so foolish after
all. I'd like to have you board it out with
me in summer. haven't paid you
enough, but I've paid you eli l can in
hard cash. live in a little house up on
Lake George, doctor, not anywhere near
about the big hotels. it amt much OF a
house-just little brown frame thing, set
down In the middle OF an apple orchard,
with hOneysuckle vines most hiding it
from the road. There amt nybody there
but just me and the old man. lie spends
all his pay-time hunting birds eggs or
Itufing birds. Childish sort of work.
tell him, but it don't make any noise and
Ii pleases him. It's awful quiet and SOL
emn there of nights. Then the hills grow
sark and still behind US, and
the lake goes swish-swashing against
the rocks in front. But l think you'd
like it for little while, doctor. It's real
pretty when the buckwheat is in flower
and the sumach's turning red. You'd like
IL, maybe. If you're fond of milk and
honey. We amt very high feeders. But
maybe"-she looked at him anxiously-
''you wouldn't like it. it's so still Some
times, long of the middle of the day. YOU
can hear the apples dropping in the or
chard and the bees buZzing 'mong the
buckwheat"
This sounded tempting 70 DR.. Milbank's
urban ears. He thought he should like il
very much, that little brown house where
the honeysuckles grew and where the bees
sucked the buckwheat. He said as much
70 Mrs. LOckhart, causing her to press hel
brown wooden gloves together with a
gesture of mute gratitude, while rfaded
cheek flushed with pleasure.
"And / will try you next summer, on
pne condition, Mrs. Lockhart" He looked
very resOlute.
"Yes, sir?"
"You are not to take any summer
boarders"
Mrs. Lockhart's laugh was one of relief.
''Thapll be a easy condition to keep,
doctor. We're too far out of the way 10
suit most folks. But we're easy to get at,
tor all that. Take a skiff at Caldwell. and
tell any of those fellows to row you over
TO old man Lockharts. and they'll bring
you smaek-bang in front Of our place."
That next summer" had come five
years before and never since had Dr.
Mil5ank spent single anxious specula.
tion as to where he should spend his one
month out of the twelve.
The brown cottage, with the eternal
hills lowering over 1t; with its buckWheat
fields spreading up the slopes like bleach.
ing linen; with its orchards and its bee.
hives; with its tidy housewife, who made
such marvellous hot biscuit and rich, black
coffee; with its sturdy old house-band
who stuffed birds or discoursed political
economy with impartial readiness, had
Rll been pleasant realities to him for hall 9
decade.
Nothing 10 mar it. Nothing-until
coming home one afternoon, hungry as
bear, but especially elated with his day'.
success as a fisherman, Mrs. LOckhart con
fronted him. as be turned from securing
his skiff to its post, with face full Of con
Germ and a voice with nervous tremol
IN il.
II hope you won't think I've gone and