Once in the city, he went directly about his “arrant.” He chose a street set thick with dwelling-houses as like one another as peas in a pod are like. He tramped down one side of the street, up the other, till at last he came upon what he sought. A smart sign hung on that particular house, and Jem Three mounted the high steps and rang the door-bell.
“Is this a doctor’s house? There’s a sign that says—”
“The doctor isn’t at home,” the smart maid said smartly. “Will you leave your address on the slate, or will you call again at office hours—two till six.”
“I’ll call somewheres else,” Jem Three said briefly.
He called at many doors in many rows of pea—of houses. It was sometime before he succeeded in his quest. When at length he found a doctor at home, he was closeted with him for a brief space and then drove away with him in a trim little gig to a great, many-windowed house where pale people were sunning themselves in wheel-chairs about the doors. Jem Three made a call at the many-windowed house.
It was with considerable curiosity that two people down by the sea awaited the boy’s return from his trip, but oddly enough it was neither Uncle Jem nor Judith that he sought out at first. It was Judith’s mother, at her work down-beach at the summer cottage. Jemmy Three went straight to her. He had got home earlier than he expected and mother had worked later, so they walked back together in the cool, clear evening, talking all the way.
“Don’t tell Judy,” the boy said the last thing, as they parted. “I mean, not it. It’ll be splendid to surprise her, Mis’ Lynn!”
“If we can, Jemmy,” the mother answered gently. “If it succeeds. The more I think of it the more it makes me tremble, Jemmy; but we’ll do our best and leave the part we cant’t do with the One who can do it.” The gentle voice trembled into silence. Mother could “make poetry,” too. Jemmy caught off his hat suddenly, and the very act was a little prayer.