“I feel as though I must find out what people are saying and thinking,” he would declare.
The truth of the matter was that Mr. Carter was well,—as well as ever, and the mere chopping of wood and stopping of cracks was not enough to occupy him. It had seemed to him as he went on that mad ride to the rescue of his beloved Helen that he was absolutely himself again. No longer could he let people plan his life for him. He was a man and meant to take the reins into his own hands. Not that his girls had not driven the family coach excellently well. They were wonderful, but he was able to do it for himself now and he intended to start.
He consulted Dr. Wright:
“I tell you, Wright, I am as fit as a fiddle and can get to work now.”
“Of course you are! Didn’t I give you a year? You have not taken quite a year but the time is almost up. The shock that night of the ball helped you on to a complete recovery a little ahead of time. Sometimes a nervous patient gets a shock that does more than rest. The trouble is, one can’t tell whether it will kill or cure.”
“Well, this one cured all right. Why, man, I could build a cathedral tomorrow!”
“Good!”
“I never can thank you enough for your kindness to me and my family. If there is ever anything I can do for you——”
“No doubt there will be,” was the doctor’s cryptic remark.