The Doctor's Visit
But it was not necessary for Roger to go. "Of his own accord," Doctor Conrad came across the street and opened the creaky white gate. When he came in, he brought with him the atmosphere of vitality and good cheer. He had, too, that gentle sympathy which is the inestimable gift of the physician, and which requires no words to make itself felt.
His quick eye noted the box of capsules upon the table, as he sat down and took Miss Mattie's rough, work-worn hand in his. "How is it?" he asked. "Better?"
"Mebbe," she answered, grudgingly. "No more'n a mite, though."
"That's all we can expect so soon. By to-morrow morning, though, you should be all right." His manner unconsciously indicated that it would be the one joy of a hitherto desolate existence if Miss Mattie should be perfectly well again in the morning.
"How's my fellow sufferer?" she inquired, somewhat mollified.
"Barbara? She's doing very well. She's a brave little thing."
"Which is the sickest—her or me?"
"As regards actual pain," replied Doctor Conrad, tactfully, "you are probably suffering more than she is at the present moment."
"I knowed it," cried Miss Mattie triumphantly. "Do you hear that, Roger?"