Mary moved to another clump of bushes. As she worked she thought if she had never known the joy of gathering nuts and wild grapes and persimmons, of wandering through woods and meadows, her childhood would have lost much that is beautiful and best, and her womanhood many of its dearest recollections.
“You're the doctor's wife, ain't ye?”
Mary looked around quite startled. A tall woman in a blue calico dress and a brown gingham sunbonnet was standing there. “I didn't want to scare ye, I guess you didn't see me comin'.”
“I didn't know you were coming—yes, I am the doctor's wife.”
“We saw ye from the house and supposed he'd gone on to see old man Benning and that you had stopped to pick nuts.”
“You guessed it exactly,” said Mary with a smile.
“We live about a quarter mile back from the road so I didn't see the doctor in time to stop him.”
“Is some one sick at your house, then?”
“Well, my man ain't a doin' right, somehow. He's been ailin' for some time and his left foot and leg is a turnin' blue. I come to see if you could tell me somethin' I could do for it. I'm afraid it's mortifyin'.”
Mary's brown eyes opened wide. “Why, my dear woman, I couldn't tell you anything to do. I don't know anything at all about such things.”