Dear Aunt Ruth:
This morning, at ten o’clock, a carriage drove up to our gate and out of it there stepped three gentlemen. Octave had just frightened us all nearly to death by telling us that Melville was this morning to undergo an operation to see if his limbs could not be straightened. The operation was considered a simple one, though it is comparatively a new one; and only one German surgeon has as yet performed it successfully. That surgeon is a friend of Mr. Pickel; and “Uncle Fritz” persuaded him to come up here and operate on Melville. This was at Melville’s own request, and it was something which could be done here as well as in a hospital.
There was a trained woman nurse, and one of the three men is also a trained nurse, and he is to stay here until Melville is quite well again. The others were doctors, and Dr. Winslow was here with another physician from the village. Octave stayed in the room all the time; and the only sign she showed of being frightened was when they called for Rosetta’s long ironing-table, and carried that into Melville’s sitting-room. She turned so white then that I thought she would faint, and I ran to her; but she put me away at once. “Don’t! I am all right!” she said; and she seemed to be, but I couldn’t have done it. As for Paula, she is in bed recovering from her shot-at episode. Christina has taken Fritz and gone away into the woods, and Rosetta is crying in the kitchen, or she was the last time I saw her.
This is part of the great MYSTERY which Melville and Octave have had; and it has all turned out splendidly. The operation is, as far as they can judge, a perfect success; and words cannot tell you how glad Melville is; but I don’t believe he is half as glad as Octave. That girl just beams! They didn’t tell you on account of grandma; and even Mr. Pickel didn’t know when it was to be, though he has written heaps of letters and arranged everything as far as he could, being absent.
The other part, the Professor von Holsneck part is, as far as I understand it, like this: Melville has always been fond of messing with chemicals and weeds and things on that queer invalid table of his. All his experiments have had but one end in view; and that one such as a boy who has suffered so much would value the most. He wanted to cure pain. If he could not cure it, at least to ease it; and he has accomplished the most wonderful thing!
But, there is Octave calling. I do hope that nothing has happened! Luke is just going to the village, so I will send this right along, and write some more to-morrow.
Good by, in loving haste,
Content.
CHAPTER XXII.
“Letters for me? That is good,” said Ruth Kinsolving, as the pleasant-faced servant brought in the morning mail. “Home letters, too, Mother Amy.”
Grandmother Kinsolving smiled. She had learned to watch her daughter’s face with considerable amusement, whenever missives from the “pickle”-invaded Snuggery were received. There was always something in them to disquiet the order-loving little lady herself, but the real burden of anxiety was felt by Ruth.