He wired to the city for a specialist before going to his home. Next morning he told Nancy McVeigh of his action. That good old soul fell in with the idea on the spot, and her comments caused him to turn away his face in foolish embarrassment.
"It's what I have been expectin' ye to do all along, but I didn't care to suggest it to ye before, as yer professional pride might not welcome my interference. It's her poor, thin face an' her smile that kapes yer mind from the rale doctorin'. Ye just git a smart man from the city, an' it'll do ye both a power o' good," she said.
When he was gone Nancy went to the sick-chamber.
"Are ye able to stand good news?" she inquired.
Miss Sophia turned her face towards her, and smiled encouragingly.
"Surely, if it is really bright and hopeful," she replied, weakly.
"Ye may suppose I'm takin' liberties wi' yer privit concerns, but ye will learn to fergive me whin ye are well an' the spring is here again wi' its quiet sunshine, its flowers an' the grass growin' by the roadside wi' patterns worked in dandelions like a foine carpet."
"I love the spring!" Miss Piper exclaimed, with animation.
It had seemed a wonderful thing to the doctor, the power to rouse the suffering woman contained in the homely phrases of Nancy McVeigh.
"As if that was all to love," Nancy impatiently returned. "Did it ever come right home to yer heart that ye loved a man an' ye didn't recognize the feelin' fer a long time afterwards. Fer instance, one who is makin' piles o' money out o' the ills o' others?" she added, pausing in her dusting to gaze shrewdly at her friend.