“Well? No!” blurted out the physician. “She doesn’t please me. She doesn’t get back her strength. Her nerves are jumpy. I hear that she was considered a Tartar in the schoolroom. Is that right?”
“Ask Tommy Pinkney,” smiled Ruth. “I believe she was considered strict.”
“Humph! yes. Short tempered, sharp tongued, children afraid of her, eh?”
“I believe so,” admitted Ruth.
“Good reason for that,” said the doctor, shaking his head. “Her nerves are worn to a frazzle. I’m not sure that it isn’t a teacher’s disease. It’s prevalent among ’em. The children just wear them out—if they don’t take things easily.”
“But, Miss Pepperill?”
“I can’t get her on her pins again,” growled the doctor.
“Oh, Doctor! Can’t she come over here with her sister to-morrow?”
“Yes, she’ll come in my machine,” said the good physician, putting on his hat once more. “What I am talking about is her lack of improvement. She stands still. She makes no perceptible gain. She talks about going back to teaching, and all that. Why, she is no more fit to be a teacher at present than I am fit to be an angel!”
Ruth smiled up at him and patted his burly shoulder. “I am not so sure that you are not an angel, Doctor,” she said.