“That's what I'm doing now. There's a boy with a broken arm in the office in the next room.”
“Oh, your husband has his office here at the house.”
“Yes, and it's a nuisance sometimes, too, but one gets used to it.”
“I'll watch you and learn something new about the work of a doctor's wife.”
“You'll learn then to have a lot of pillow slips and sheets on hand. Old or new, Dr. Parkin just tears them up when he gets in a hurry—it doesn't matter to him what goes.”
The doctor's wife put cotton over the whole length of the shingle and wound the strips of muslin around it; then taking a needle and thread she stitched it securely. Mary sat in her chair watching the process with much interest. “You have made it thicker in some places than in others,” she said.
“Yes; that is to fit the inequalities of the arm.” Mary looked at her admiringly. “You are something of an artist,” she observed.
Just as Mrs. Parkin finished it her husband appeared in the doorway.
“Is it done?” he asked.
“It's just finished.”