CHAPTER VII.
THE STRENGTH OF TEN.
It was the sudden termination of the jingling of sleigh-bells that caused Nancy McVeigh to look curiously from her window. People seldom stopped before the old tavern since the transfer of the license to the summer hotel back on the lake shore. At one time it was an odd thing for anyone to pass without dropping in, if only for a chat or an excuse to water his horses at the pump trough. Nancy sighed when she remembered it, for it had brought much gossip and change into her daily existence. When a chance visitor did intrude upon her quietude, his welcome was assured. Also she did much of her knitting by the front window, so that she could catch glimpses of her old customers, even if she could not speak to them.
On this wintry day in the early January, it was Dr. Dodona, from town, who tied his horse to a verandah post and rapped briskly at her door.
"It's a real pleasure to see ye, doctor," Nancy exclaimed, as she gave him admittance. "Ye must be cold. I'll just give ye me best chair by the fire, an' ye can smoke a pipe while ye're tellin' yer errand."
"You're very kind, Mistress McVeigh. People like yourself make a doctor's work less arduous," the doctor answered, heartily.
"It's good of ye to say so, doctor, fer it's little demand fer service ye get out o' me an' mine."
"I'm on my return from James Piper's, down the road. His two children are ill with the cold, and I am afraid something more serious may be expected. Miss Sophia has them well in hand, and I have left a course of treatment, but I'm not at all satisfied."
"Did ye recommend goose grease and turpentine? The winter Jennie had a bad throat I used them in plenty, an' it's what saved her," Nancy remarked, sagaciously.