And when he had to go—she would harness the team and drive him, so he could sleep all the way, and when the roads were fit for it, she would drive the car—and soon she would be able to set bones and do common things like that. He would show her—and then they would go to New York—in two or three years maybe—he had told her once he wanted to do this—for a post-graduate course—and they would have a little suite, and she would study, too.
And always, always, always they would be together—and no matter how many people there were praising him and wanting him—he would just be her man—and at night, when he was tired—and all the noise of the day was over and everyone was gone, she would have him all to herself.
Pearl's head sank on the window sill, while an ecstacy of joy swept over her—happy tears filled her eyes—life was so sweet—so rich—so full….
CHAPTER III
THE HOUSE OF CLAY
When the operation was over, the two doctors drove back to Millford, the younger man so deeply engrossed in his own thoughts he hardly heard the older doctor's incessant conversation. But that did not in any wise discourage Dr. Brander, for to him, talking was much like breathing, it went on easily, unconsciously, and without the necessity of a listener.
On Dr. Clay there had fallen the pleasant, drowsy feeling of one whose work is done for the day, and a hard day it had been, with its uncertainty of the delayed train, and his patient's condition. But all had gone well, and his patient's reaction had been satisfactory. More than that, the older doctor had concurred in all that he had done, and commended his treatment of the case from the beginning.
So, comfortably seated in the cutter, with a brown bear robe over their knees, and the mate of it over the seat, the two doctors drove home in the purple-blue twilight, seated side by side, but with minds far removed from each other.
The doctor's horses knew every road that led home, and trotted on without any guidance or word from him—they were a fine team of glossy chestnuts of whom the young doctor was extremely proud. But tonight, a strange lassitude of spirit was upon him and he only wanted to relax his weary brain and dream away the snowy miles to the rhythmic beat of the horses' hoofs.
He had never been more contented in his life. His work was going well—that day the Liberals had offered him the nomination for the coming provincial election! It was an honor which he appreciated, though he had no desire to enter politics. He loved his work—the people he served were devoted to him—he could read it in their faces and their stammering words. He knew what they wanted to say, even though it was conveyed in a few halting fragments of sentences—"You're all right—Doc—sure—glad you got here—we knew you'd make it—somehow—you and them high steppers of yours can get through the snow—if any one can."