Nic Takes the Helm.
“Bad news,” said the doctor, about a couple of months’ shepherding and track riding later, as he held a letter out to his wife before coming to where a couple of men were carefully rubbing down the heated horses they had hitched up to the fence kept for the purpose.
“Come in, my lads,” he said. “I’ll have your horses seen to. They must have a couple of hours’ rest. There’ll be a meal ready for you directly.”
“What is it, mother?” said Janet and Hilda; and Nic looked at her eagerly.
“It is bad news indeed,” said Mrs Braydon. “The letter is from Lady O’Hara, who is in the deepest distress about Sir John. She says he is dying, and that there is only one man in the colony she believes able to cure him.”
“Father!” cried Hilda, flushing.
“Yes, my dear; and she begs that he will come to her in her great distress. Here he is.”
For the doctor, after showing the men round to the stable, where they preferred to attend to their horses themselves, re-entered the room.
“Well, my dear, what do you think? Lady O’Hara forgets that I have not practised for so long.”
“Lady O’Hara knows that she has spoken the truth,” said Mrs Braydon proudly.