“I was passin’,” said Thomas, coming within, “and I thought I’d stop for a bit t’ smoke a pipe with you. But you’re ailin’, sir?”
“No—yes—just a little out of sorts,” admitted Doctor Joe. “But I’m glad to see you, neighbor! I’m glad you came! I thank God you came!” he added fervently. “Perhaps I was lonely. I know that I need your company, Thomas.”
“There’s a goose I brought you, sir,” and Thomas laid the game upon the table, “but ’twill not be right for you to ’bide here alone, ailin’ as you are. Come along to The Jug and ’bide a day or two with us, till you feels mended, whatever.”
“Thank you, Thomas, you’re a good friend and neighbor,” assented Doctor Joe, with evident relief. “I’ll go with you. The pull over in your boat will do me good, and I need your company.”
“And bring your cures so you’ll have un to take, an’ you needs un,” suggested Thomas solicitously, as Doctor Joe arose and took his adiky from a peg.
“Your company will be the best remedy, Thomas,” remarked Doctor Joe, drawing the adiky over his head. “There are some disorders medicine will not cure—only change and good comradeship, and sweet, sympathetic friendship, such as you are giving me.”
“You’re always welcome at The Jug, whatever!” Thomas assured heartily, though he did not in the least understand the import of what Doctor Joe had said.
But as the weeks passed, and the cold of the long winter settled upon the land, Doctor Joe adapted himself to the life of the Bay, and entered heartily into his business of trapper, and soon it was discovered that he was a jolly neighbor, and the Bay folk as well as Thomas accepted him as one of them, and forgot the mystery, and were ever ready to lend him a hand, and give him hints that helped him vastly in learning his new trade, for he was clumsy enough at setting traps at first.
In return Doctor Joe was always on hand with a well-filled medicine case when he heard that any one was sick, and he displayed wonderful skill. He had supplied himself with medicines, he explained, because they were always handy, where there was no doctor to call. And when Bill Campbell’s boy laid the calf of his leg open with an ax, and Doctor Joe sewed it up, and bound it, as the folk had never seen a wound bound before, it was agreed he was the cleverest man in that line on the whole coast.
Then it was that they had begun to call him “Doctor Joe,” and he had accepted the new name as a compliment, and with rare good nature, and soon he was “Doctor Joe” to every one, and a welcome visitor wherever he went.