A swift change had come over the combative features of Doctor Kale, and his wrinkled face bore a reminiscent look. There was a distant expression in his eyes; he seemed to be gazing into the past.
Glenning pushed the tray and its contents away and leaned his head on his hand.
"The prettiest woman in the county, and I might say in Kentucky," mused the man on the bed.
He got up and walked limping to his patient, and as he began an examination of hidden bandages and general physical condition his flow of talk continued in a wonderfully changed and melodious voice.
"I've known the family always. These hands were the first hands which touched that little girl when she came into the world, and I've watched her in sickness and in health up till now. Julia's as sweet as God could make her, and that's about as sweet as a woman can get. The old Major's game, and stiff, and proud as the devil, and poor as Lazarus, but he's a gentleman; a gentleman, sir, who'd pawn his last coat to pay a debt and go through the winter in his shirt sleeves. I could never get closer than arm's length to the Major, but Julia—" His voice stopped, and Glenning, stealing a glance at his face, saw that his lips were tight and he was slowly shaking his head. "She's a wonderful girl," he resumed, presently, while his hands glided deftly about here and there. "She came to me once when nobody else would have done in her place, when my greatest sorrow was on me, and I won't forget it—I won't forget it—I'll tell it to God Almighty when we stand before Him together!"
Glenning had no words in which to answer this unusual discourse. He remained silent, and presently the doctor stepped aside.
"I swear you seem fit as a fiddle!" he avowed, in his old peremptory tones. "You must be a tough nut. How do you feel? Any internal pains?"
His patient drew a long breath, and a grimace which he could not check in time shot over his face.
"Don't lie to me, you young rascal! Where does it hurt?"
"Inside; here."