“What do you think are the greatest professions, Miss Ruth?” asked the boy suddenly.
“Well, law is one—” she began.
“That’s the way Papa begins,” he interrupted impatiently; “but I’ll tell you what I think is the greatest. Guess, now.”
“The ministry?” she ventured.
“Oh, of course; but I’m not good enough for that,—that takes exceptions. Guess again.”
“Well, there are the fine arts, or soldiery,—that is it. You would be a brave soldier, Willikins, my man.”
“No, sir,” he replied, flinging back his head; “I don’t want to take lives; I want to save them.”
“You mean a physician, Will?”
“That’s it—but not exactly—I mean a surgeon. Don’t you think that takes bravery? And it’s a long sight better than being a soldier; he draws blood to kill, we do it to save. What do you think, Miss Ruth?”
“Indeed, you are right,” she answered dreamily, her thoughts wandering beyond the river. So they walked along; and as they were about to descent the slope, a man in overalls and carrying a leather bag came suddenly upon them in the gloaming. He stood stock-still, his mouth gaping wide.