The Dupuyer acantha. [volume] (Dupuyer, Mont.) 1894-1904, 1896-02-13

much to her satisfaction that | found
myself duly installed as her family
physician, with orders to visit her
twice a week.
She was a very ~jolly-looking, blunt
spoken old lady, with the temper of a
tyrant, generous to the eXtreme; II
woe be to anyone who thwarted her.
The old doctor had been unfortunate
enough to do so in his independence,
and you know the result.
"Look here" said she to me, the first
day l called in obedience to her sum
mons. 81 rather like the look of you,
doctor, and l hear you are clever"
81 do my best, madam, of course" l
said.
"Oh, yes, I know; and you've come
fresh from London with all the new
ideas and experiences of the best men.
Minson's an old, opinionated fudge-a
regular old salts and SIENNA and jalap
doctor. l. don't want that. I'm not
going to be drenched with his nasty
draughts. l know more than he does
about myself and what my complaint
is. I'll tell you in Doctors Latin, too.
It's Ammo DOmini 50, and eating and
drinking too many good things; that's
what's wrong with me. You said so
yourself as you entered the room, now,
didn't you?"
I laughed and said frankly:
well, yes, Lady Mount-Denniston,
there really is nothing else the mat
ter"
"Ho! Now, don't you think you are
q very foolish young man to tell me
so, when you might have humored my
whims and run up a long billy'
mo" l said, 81 do not"
"Thatll do" she said. sweetly; 'and
I've a good mind to send you about
your business; but l won't, for you are
just the sort of a young nan l want.
You come and see me twice a week,
and see to me just a that carpenter
comes to see the park palings; but
don't give me pills and %draughts; |
hate them"
81 will try to do all that, is necessary
by regimen" l said.
"What. You'd better not, sir. l
haven't long to live, and, as I'm well,
/ mean to enjoy life as much as l
cal So now you know what you've
got to do. There, that's enough. It's
just lunch time. You stop and talk to
a lonely old woma l want to know
you better; hut you must find a wife.
Ladies don't like single men to attend
them. Get married.
VERY WELL" l said. "When the
right lady come to the front, not be-
| fore"
SO l attended Lady Mount-Dennis-
ton, and, to he in the fashion. plenty
of tie ~neighboring gentry followed in
her wake, so tia | began to make a
very respectable income, and people
l Cnt1 T1at Y I,ArlJ .-. u
parish and the poor. But people are
not always right, for l did not, thank
goodness, as o will hear.
One day, during the hot summer.
had been to see her ladyship, who was
suffering from Indigestion slightly; sc
i treated her, promised to look in next
day, and returned to Willowly. where
/ found a letter, written in a delicate
feminine hand. imploring me to come
and see ii child who was ILL.,
VERY pretty, poorly-dressed youna
widow lady, sir" my housekeepel
said. "She's a dressmaker, trying tt
get a living in the lower part of the
town. She has been here three times
and seems in great trouble. VIII yor
have your dinner before you CO.
mo" l said, shortly; and opening
the back window. | called to my mar
to bring around the chaise again, ant
was driven to the little four-roomeC
cottage, whose door was opened by d;
sweet, ladylike looking person who
tried to speak, but could only gasp on
the words:
"Pray-pray-come, doctor; he's dy
ing fast"
l hurried up after her into a rather
bare but beautifully clean room, ant
1t was too true. The pathetic stor!
was easily grasped. A young widow
whose white, haggard face told o
deep sorrow, followed by poverty, ag
onized nov lest her one darling, /
beautiful little fellow three or foul
years old, should be snatched away.
l saw at a glance that | was onl,
just in time. The child was sufferinl
from Il of those epidemic complaints
which seize suddenly and rapidly sal
away the vitality from the tendcl
young frame of childhood, and my
heart contracted with pity and douh-
as 1 examined my senseloss little pa
tent.