"So it was," said the doctor, and unhooked his reins and nodded. "Well," he said—
But Miss Harriet laughed awkwardly. "Wait a minute, can't you? It won't kill anybody to do without a pill for five minutes."
"Well, no, I suppose it won't," William admitted; "but with a view to getting home in time for dinner—"
"Oh, let Martha wait. Willy, you are the meekest being—let her wait. Tell her you'll have your dinner when you're good and ready."
"Martha is only concerned on my own account," the loyal William protested.
"Well, I'm not going to keep you long," his old friend said, roughly; "I—I just want to ask you a question." Her face grew suddenly a dull red. "Not that I believe in your pills and potions—just please remember that. But I suppose you do know a little something."
"I could diagnose a scratched finger," said the doctor, meekly.
"Well—" she said, and looked at the lock of her rifle; "there's nothing in the world the matter with me, but—"
"You don't look like a confirmed invalid," the doctor assured her.
"No!—do I?" she said, eagerly. "I really am very well, William—very well. Dear me, when I get home after a round of my traps (when Annie hasn't teased me by letting things out) and eat a good dinner, and sit down with a taxidermy magazine, I—I wouldn't thank King George to be my uncle. Yes, I am very well."