“Doctors never pick at folks,” he said to himself—“at any rate, not old Dr. Burt's son.
“I used to come here to see your mother,” said the doctor, “when she was sick. She used to talk a great deal about you, and said she wanted me to get acquainted with you, when your time was out.”
Eph started, but said nothing.
“She was a good woman, Aunt Lois,” added the doctor; “one of the best women I ever saw.”
“I don't want anybody to bother himself on my account,” said Eph. “I ask no favors.”
“You will have to take favors, though,” said the doctor, “before the winter is over. You will be careless and get sick; you have been living for a long time entirely in-doors, with regular hours and work and food. Now you are going to live out-of-doors, and get your own meals, irregularly. You did n't have on a thick coat the other night, when I saw you at the store.”
“I haven't got any that's large enough for me,” said Eph, a little less harshly, “and I 've got to keep my money for other things.”
“Then look out and wear flannel shirts enough,” said the doctor, “if you want to be independent. But before I go, I want to go into the house. I want my wife to see Aunt Lois's room, and the view from the west window;” and he led the way to the sleigh.
Eph hesitated a moment, and then followed him.
“Mary, this is Ephraim Morse. We are going in to see the Dutch tiles I have told you of.”