“Yes, my boy, and every other blight and disease possible to them, without counting the dry shrivelled state they are in from the drought.”
“Oh dear!” sighed Chris. “There seems to be nothing here but disappointments.”
“Oh yes, there is, my boy,” said the doctor; “it is a land of beauty and perfect health.”
“Yes, it’s beautiful enough, fa,” said Chris grudgingly, “and it’s wonderful to see Mr Bourne, who used to be so weak that he had to be carried out to lie in the shade, while now he can do anything. He runs faster than we can, doesn’t he, Ned?”
“Ever so much,” said the lad proudly, and with glistening eyes.
“And he carried that tree to the saw-pit,” said Chris; “the one we couldn’t lift.”
“Yes, he has thoroughly recovered,” said the doctor, “and we were none of us so well before in our lives.”
“But that makes it so bad for you, fa,” said Chris, with something of his father’s bitterness of tone. “How are you ever going to get a practice together if people will be so horribly healthy?”
“What!” cried the doctor. “Horribly healthy, indeed! Why, you wicked young ruffian, do you suppose that I want people to be ill? Thank goodness that it is such a paradise of beauty and health. Don’t I have people come from a hundred miles round with their accidents—broken limbs and cuts?”
“Doctor Lee,” said the other boy, who had been sitting on a flour-barrel very silent and thoughtful and with his brow puckered up, while his voice sounded eager and inquiring.