This place was about a quarter of a mile from Miss Hester's small house which stood on the edge of the town upon a street which became a road just beyond. The town was not a large one. The houses stood far apart and many of them were surrounded by pretty gardens. In the centre of the town, just opposite the store and the post-office, stood Dr. Peaslee's house, a square brick building with as square a porch before the front door. The doctor was not married, and his mother, an invalid, was so rarely seen that most persons had forgotten her existence, and thought that a housekeeper held sway.
After leaving Ruth at the gate of their home, Billy retraced his steps, and, crossing the street when he came to the store, he went directly to Dr. Peaslee's door. The good doctor's mud-spattered buggy stood before the gate, so Billy knew that he should find the doctor at home, and he was not mistaken for he was in his office.
"Well, Billy boy," he exclaimed, looking up over his glasses, "what brings you here? Any one ill up your way? Not Miss Hester, I hope."
There was a little anxious ring in his tone.
"Nobody's sick," returned Billy. "I came over to consult you."
"About yourself? What's your particular indisposition, Mr. Beatty?"
The doctor and Billy had been good friends ever since that day when Billy had been picked up in the streets of the city and had wakened to consciousness to see the doctor's kind face bending over him.
"'Tain't nothin' the matter with me," returned Billy, grinning. "I'm all right."
"Don't want to be fashionable and part with your appendix?" asked the doctor fingering some sharp instruments which lay on the table before him.
Billy gave a little squirm but faced the doctor's glance sturdily. "I ain't achin' to be no subjick at a 'orspital," he returned. "I reckon the doctors kin learn their trade without foolin' with my in'ards."