THE DOCTORS.
"My dears," said Miss Wealthy, as they sat down to dinner,--the bell
rang on the stroke of one, and the girls were both ready and waiting in
the parlor, which pleased the dear old lady very much,--"my dears, when
I made the little suggestions this morning as to how you should amuse
yourselves, I entirely forgot to mention Dr. Abernethy. I cannot imagine
how I should have forgotten it, but Martha assures me that I did. Dr.
Abernethy is entirely at your service in the mornings, but I generally
require him for an hour in the afternoon. I am sure Rose will be the
better for his treatment; and I trust you will both find him
satisfactory, though possibly he may seem to you a little slow, for he
is not so young as he once was."
"Dr.--Oh, Cousin Wealthy!" exclaimed Hildegarde, in dismay. "But we are
perfectly well! At least--of course, Rose is not strong yet; but she is
gaining strength every day, and we have Dr. Flower's directions. Indeed,
we don't need any doctor."
Cousin Wealthy smiled. She enjoyed a little joke as much as any one, and
Dr. Abernethy was one of her standing jokes.
"I think, my dear," she said, "that you will be very glad to avail
yourself of the Doctor's services when once you know him. Indeed, I
shall make a point of your seeing him once a day, as a rule." Then,
seeing that both girls were thoroughly mystified, she added: "Dr.
Abernethy is a very distinguished physician. He gives no medicine, his
invariable prescription being a little gentle exercise. He lives--in
the stable, my dears, and he has four legs and a tail."
"Oh! oh! Cousin Wealthy, how could you frighten us so!" cried
Hildegarde. "You must be kissed immediately, as a punishment." She flew
around the table, and kissed the soft cheek, like a crumpled blush rose.
"A horse! How delightful! Rose, we were wishing that we might drive,
weren't we? And what a funny, nice name! Dr. Abernethy! He was a great
English doctor, wasn't he? And I was wondering if some stupid country
doctor had stolen his name."
"I had rather a severe illness a few years ago," said Miss Wealthy, "and
when I was recovering from it my physician advised me to try driving
regularly, saying that he should resign in favor of Dr. Horse. So I
bought this excellent beast, and named him Dr. Abernethy, after the
famous physician, whom I had seen once in London, when I was a little
girl."
"It was he who used to do such queer things, wasn't it?" said
Hildegarde. "Did he do anything strange when you saw him, Cousin
Wealthy?"
"Nothing really strange," said Miss Wealthy, "though it seemed so to me
then. He came to see my mother, who was ill, and bolted first into the
room where I sat playing with my doll.
"'Who's this? who's this?' he said, in a very gruff voice. 'Little girl!
Humph! Tooth-ache, little girl?'
"'No, sir,' I answered faintly, being frightened nearly out of my wits.
"'Head-ache, little girl?'
"'No, sir.'
"'Stomach-ache, little girl?'
"'Oh, no, sir!'
"'Then take that!' and he thrust a little paper of chocolate drops into
my hand, and stumped out of the room as quickly as he had come in. I
thought he was an ogre at first; for I was only seven years old, and had
just been reading 'Jack and the Beanstalk;' but the chocolate drops
reassured me."
"What an extraordinary man!" exclaimed Rose. "And was he a very good
doctor?"
"Oh, wonderful!" replied Miss Wealthy. "People came from all parts of
the world to consult him, and he could not even go out in the street
without being clutched by some anxious patient. They used to tell a
funny story about an old woman's catching him in this way one day, when
he was in a great hurry,--but he was always in a hurry,--and pouring out
a long string of symptoms, so fast that the doctor could not get in a
word edgewise. At last he shouted 'Stop!' so loud that all the people in
the street turned round to stare. The old lady stopped in terror, and
Dr. Abernethy bade her shut her eyes and put her tongue out; then, when
she did so, he walked off, and left her standing there in the middle of
the sidewalk with her tongue out. I don't know whether it is true,
though."
"Oh, I hope it is!" cried Hildegarde, laughing. "It is too funny not to
be true."
"We had a very queer doctor at Glenfield some years ago," said Rose. "He
must have been just the opposite of Dr. Abernethy. He was very tall and
very slow, and spoke with the queerest drawl, using always the longest
words he could find. I never shall forget his coming to our house once
when Bubble had the measles. He had come a day or two before, but I had
not seen him. This time, however, I was in the room. He sat down by the
bed, and began stroking his long chin. It was the longest chin I ever
saw, nearly as long as the rest of his face.
"'And is there any amelioration of the symptoms this morning?' he asked
Mother,--'ame-e-lioration?' (He was very fond of repeating any word that
he thought sounded well.)
"Poor dear mother hadn't the faintest idea what amelioration was; and
she stammered and colored, and said she hadn't noticed any, and didn't
_think_ the child had it. But luckily I was in the 'Fifth Reader' then,
and had happened to have 'amelioration' in my spelling-lesson only a few
days before; so I spoke up and said, 'Oh, yes, Dr. Longman, he is a
great deal better, and he is really hungry to-day.'
"'Ah!' said Dr. Longman, 'craves food, does he?--cra-aves food!'
"Just then Bubble's patience gave out. He was getting better, and it
made him _so_ cross, poor dear! he snapped out, in his funny way, 'I've
got a bile comin' on my nose, and it hurts like fury!'
"Dr. Longman stooped forward, put on his spectacles, and looked at the
boil carefully. 'Ah!' he said, 'furunculus,--furunculus! Is it--ah--is
it excru-ciating?'
"I can't describe the way in which he pronounced the last word. As he
said it, he dropped his head, and looked over his spectacles at Bubble
in a way that was perfectly irresistible. Bubble gave a sort of howl,
and disappeared under the bedclothes; and I had a fit of coughing, which
made Mother very anxious. Dear mother! she never could see anything
funny about Dr. Longman."
At this moment Martha entered, bringing the dessert,--a wonderful
almond-pudding, such as only Martha could make. She stopped a moment,
holding the door as if to prevent some one's coming in.
"Here's the Doctor wants terrible to come in, Mam!" she said. "Will I
let him?"
"Yes, certainly," said Miss Wealthy, smiling. "Let the good Doctor in!"
The girls looked up in amazement, half expecting to see a horse's head
appear in the doorway; but instead, a majestic black "coon" cat, with
waving feathery tail and large yellow eyes, walked solemnly in, and
seeing the two strangers, stopped to observe them.
"My dears, this is the other Doctor!" said Miss Wealthy, bending to
caress the new-comer "Dr. Samuel Johnson, at your service. He is one of
the most important members of the family. Doctor, I hope you will be
very friendly to these young ladies, and not take one of your absurd
dislikes to either of them. All depends upon the first impression, my
dears!" she added, in an undertone, to the girls. "He is forming his
opinion now, and nothing will ever alter it."
Quite a breathless pause ensued; while the magnificent cat stood
motionless, turning his yellow eyes gravely from one to the other of the
girls. At length Hildegarde could not endure his gaze any longer, and
she said hastily but respectfully, "Yes, sir! I _have_ read 'Pilgrim's
Progress,' I assure you!--read it through and through, a number of
times, and love it dearly."
Dr. Johnson instantly advanced, and rubbing his head against her dress,
purred loudly. He then went round to Rose, who sat opposite, and made
the same demonstration of good-will to her.
"Dear pussy!" said Rose, stroking him gently, and scratching him behind
one ear in a very knowing manner.
Miss Wealthy drew a long breath of satisfaction. "It is all right," she
said. "Martha, he is delighted with the young ladies. Dear Doctor! he
shall have some almond-pudding at once. Bring me his saucer, please,
Martha!"
Martha brought a blue saucer; but Miss Wealthy looked at it with
surprise and disapproval.
"That is not the Doctor's saucer, Martha," she said. "Is it possible
that you have forgotten? He has _always_ had the odd yellow saucer ever
since he was a kitten."
"I'm sorry, Mam," said Martha, gently. "Jenny broke the yellow saucer
this morning, Mam, as she was washing it after the Doctor's breakfast.
I'm very sorry it should have happened, Mam."
"_Broke the yellow saucer!_" cried Miss Wealthy. Her voice was as soft
as ever, but Hildegarde and Rose both felt as if the Russians had
entered Constantinople. There was a moment of dreadful silence, and
then Miss Wealthy tried to smile, and began to help to the
almond-pudding. "Yes, I am sure you are sorry, Martha!" she
said;--"Hilda, my dear, a little pudding?--and probably Jenny is sorry
too. You like the sauce, dear, don't you? We think Martha's
almond-pudding one of her best. I should not have minded so much if it
had been any other, but this was an odd one, and seemed so appropriate,
on account of Hogarth's 'Industrious Apprentice' done in brown on the
inside. Is it quite sweet enough for you, my dear Rose?"
This speech was somewhat bewildering; but after a moment Rose succeeded
in separating the part that belonged to her, and said that the pudding
was most delicious.
"Jenny broke a cup last winter, did she not, Martha?" asked Miss
Wealthy.
"A very small cup, Mam," replied Martha, deprecatingly. "That's all she
has broken since she came. She's young, you know, Mam; and she says the
saucer just slipped out of her hand, and fell on the bricks."
Miss Wealthy shivered a little, as if she heard the crash of the broken
china. "I cannot remember that you have broken anything, Martha," she
said, "in thirty years; and you were young when you came to me. But we
will not say anything more, and I dare say Jenny will be more careful in
future. The pudding is very good, Martha; and that will do, thank you."
Martha withdrew, and Miss Wealthy turned to the girls with a sad little
smile. "Martha is very exact," she said. "A thing of this sort troubles
her extremely. Very methodical, my good Martha!"
"Hildegarde," said Rose, wishing to turn the subject and cheer the
spirits of their kind hostess, "what did you mean, just now, by telling
Dr. Johnson that you had read 'Pilgrim's Progress'? I am much puzzled!"
Hildegarde laughed. "Oh!" she said, "he understood, but I will explain
for your benefit. When I was a little girl I was not inclined to like
'Pilgrim's Progress' at first. I thought it rather dull, and liked the
Fairy Book better. I said so to Papa one day; and instead of replying,
he went to the bookcase, and taking down Boswell's 'Life of Johnson,' he
read me a little story. I think I can say it in the very words of the
book, they made so deep an impression on me: 'Dr. Johnson one day took
Bishop Percy's little daughter on his knee, and asked her what she
thought of 'Pilgrim's Progress.' The child answered that she had not
read it. 'No!' replied the Doctor; 'then I would not give one farthing
for you!' And he set her down, and took no further notice of her.' When
Papa explained to me," continued Hildegarde, laughing, "what a great man
Dr. Johnson was, it seemed to me very dreadful that he should think me,
or another little girl like me, not worth a farthing. So I set to work
with right good-will at 'Pilgrim's Progress;' and when I was once fairly
_in_ the story, of course I couldn't put it down till I had finished
it."
"Your father is a very sensible man," said Miss Wealthy, approvingly.
"'Pilgrim's Progress' is an important part of a child's education,
certainly! Let me give you a little more pudding, Hilda, my dear! No!
nor you, Rose? Then, if the Doctor is ready, suppose we go into the
parlor."
They found the parlor very cool and pleasant, with the blinds, as usual,
drawn half-way down. Miss Wealthy drew one blind half an inch lower,
compared it with the others, and pushed it up an eighth of an inch.
"And what are you going to do with yourselves this afternoon, girlies?"
she asked, settling herself in her armchair, and smelling of her
pansies, which, as usual, stood on the little round table at her elbow.
"Rose must go and lie down at once!" said Hildegarde, decidedly. "She
must lie down for two hours every day at first, Dr. Flower says, and one
hour by and by, when she is a great deal stronger. And I--oh, I shall
read to her a little, till she begins to be sleepy, and then I shall
write to Mamma and wander about. This is such a _happy_ place, Cousin
Wealthy! One does not need to do anything in particular; it is enough
just to be alive and well." Then she remembered her manners, and added:
"But isn't there something I can do for you, Cousin Wealthy? Can't I
write some notes for you,--I often write notes for Mamma,--or wind some
worsted, or do something useful? I have been playing all day, you
know."
Miss Wealthy looked pleased. "Thank you, my dear!" she said warmly. "I
shall be very glad of your help sometimes; but to-day I really have
nothing for you to do, and besides, I think the first day ought to be
all play. If you can make yourself happy in this quiet place, that is
all I shall ask of you to-day. I shall probably take a little nap
myself, as I often do after dinner, sitting here in my chair."
Obeying Hildegarde's imperative nod, Rose left her seat by the window,
half reluctantly, and moved slowly toward the door. "It seems wicked to
lie down on such a day!" she murmured; "but I suppose I must."
As she spoke, she heard a faint, a very faint sigh from Miss Wealthy.
Feeling instinctively that something was wrong, she turned and saw that
the tidy on the back of the chair she had been sitting in had slipped
down. She went back quickly, straightened it, patted it a little, and
then with an apologetic glance and smile at the old lady, went to join
Hildegarde.
"A very sweet, well-mannered girl!" was Miss Wealthy's mental comment,
as her eyes rested contentedly on the smooth rectangular lines of the
tidy. "Two of the sweetest girls, in fact, that I have seen for a good
while. Mildred has brought up her daughter extremely well; and when one
thinks of it, she herself has developed in a most extraordinary manner.
A most notable and useful woman, Mildred! Who would have thought it?"
Rose slept in the inner bedroom, which opened directly out of
Hildegarde's, with a curtained doorway between. It was a pretty room,
and very appropriate for Rose, as there were roses on the wall-paper and
on the soft gray carpet. Here the ex-invalid, as she began to call
herself, lay down on the cool white bed, in the pretty summer wrapper
of white challis, dotted with rosebuds, which had been Mrs. Grahame's
parting present. Hildegarde put a light shawl over her, and then sat
down on the window-seat.
"Shall I read or sing, Rosy?" she asked.
"Oh! but are you quite sure you don't want to do something else, dear?"
asked Rose.
"Absolutely sure!" said Hildegarde. "Quite positively sure!"
"Then," said Rose, "sing that pretty lullaby that you found in the old
song-book the other day. So pretty! it is the one that Patient Grissil
sings to her babies, isn't it?"
So Hilda sang, as follows:--
"'Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
"'Care is heavy, therefore sleep you;
You are care, and care must keep you.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.'"
Hildegarde glanced at the bed, and saw that Rose's eyes were just
closing. Still humming the last lines of the lullaby, she cast about in
her mind for something else; and there came to her another song of
quaint old Thomas Dekker, which she loved even more than the other. She
sang softly,--
"'Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?
O sweet Content!
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed?
O Punishment!
Dost laugh to see how fools are vexed
To add to golden numbers golden numbers?
O sweet Content, O sweet, O sweet Content!
"'Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring?
O sweet Content!
Swim'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?
O Punishment!
Then he that patiently Want's burden bears
No burden bears, but is a king, a king.
O sweet Content, O sweet, O sweet Content.'"
Once more Hildegarde glanced at the bed; then, rising softly and still
humming the lovely refrain, she slipped out of the room; for Rose, the
"sweet content" resting like sunshine on her face, was asleep.