Pa was not much too soon. He heard the bump and rattle of the doctor's cart over the hard road before he reached the red gate.
"Now hold hard, doc," he called out as he swung it open. "Go out the barn road. Yer patient air out thar."
"Jee whillikins!" exclaimed Doc Briskett. "You never have brought me 'way out here to see a sick cow on a church-festival night!"
Pa climbed in beside him.
"It's a pore woman thet's sick," he announced calmly, and unfolded his story for the doctor's amazed ears.
"Pa Gladden!" exclaimed the doctor. "God alone knows what sort of an illness she may have. However, I'll see her. A tramp is likely to have any disease traveling."
A lamp stood on the old table in the room, and the burly doctor took it and climbed to the upper room. Pa Gladden paused at the doorway to look over the white world of Christmas eve. On such a night, he thought, the shepherds watched, the star shone, the angels sang, the Child was born. Pa Gladden heard the voice of his mother in the long ago:
Carol, carol, Christians,
Carol joyfully,
Carol for the coming
Of Christ's nativity!
Then, hoarse and terrible, came the doctor's voice as he almost tumbled down the ladder: