A New Vocation
DR. SHAW was not in exactly an amiable frame of mind that morning. To
begin with, there was more sickness in the district than he could very
well cope with single-handed, while the lack of good nursing for his
numerous patients was telling on his temper to quite a serious extent.
He had just come from a house where a patient, recovering from a rather
bad bout of the malarial fever, just then so prevalent in the district,
had been treated by an over-indulgent mother to roast goose and
apple-pie, with, of course, disastrous results.
The fever itself was a puzzle. Some had it very lightly, and soon
recovered, being no worse for the attack. Others had it so heavily that
it became a life-and-death struggle.
In some instances it seemed epidemic, for whole households would go down
with it; but mostly the cases were isolated, and had no connection with
each other. As the neighbourhood had always been so healthy, the fever
outbreak was all the more puzzling, and the overworked doctor had
irritably decided to put it down to the weather, which had been
unusually damp and hot through the latter part of the summer.
His practice lay on both sides of the frontier, and having looked after
his Canadian patients, he crossed the border, plunging into the wild
forest land that stretched for so many miles along the American side of
the boundary.
Little oases of civilization were dotted here and there in the timbered
wilderness, and it was to one of these lonely clearings that he turned
his horse’s head.
“A fine old journey for us both, Dobbin, and only to find a dead woman
at the end,” he said, in a grumpy tone, as his horse dropped into a walk
to climb the shoulder of a mountain spur.
But Dobbin only shook an impatient head, for the flies were troublesome,
and appeared in no way worried about the state of a patient more or
less.
Dr. Shaw was always angry when his patients died, and his meek little
wife had declared that he was quite dreadful to live with when, the
previous week, both of Abe Lorimer’s sick sons had slipped out of life
one after the other.
“Whew, but it is hot this morning!” he exclaimed, mopping his face with
a big red handkerchief, which would have shocked a city practitioner.
Dobbin’s glossy coat was dripping with perspiration when at length the
end of the journey was reached, at the very same gate where Nell’s tired
feet had halted on the previous afternoon.
“Why, the blinds are not down!” exclaimed the doctor, in an amazed tone,
as he rode in through the gate and saw the two front windows of the
house both open. The door was open too—a barrier made of an
ironing-board and two chairs serving to keep out pigs, ducks, and
similar intruders.
He was so struck by failing to find the signs of sorrow which he had
expected, that he sat still in his saddle staring at the house, until
Nell, who had heard his approach, came hurrying out to greet him.
The blue merino dress had been laid aside to-day for the sake of
coolness, and Nell appeared in a pink cotton skirt with a washed-out
holland blouse, which had short sleeves and no collar.
“A woman here!” exclaimed the doctor, staring at Nell as if he had never
seen anything like her before. “Pray, where did you spring from?”
“I came yesterday afternoon,” Nell answered, colouring vividly, her eyes
dropping before his steady gaze in an embarrassed fashion.
“Well, you came just right. How is Mrs. Munson?” he asked, descending
from his horse, which stood with a drooping head.
“You mean the sick woman?” she asked quickly.
“Of course. What! don’t you know her name even?” And he stared at Nell
harder than before.
“Mr. Giles only called her ‘poor aunt,’ so I did not know,” Nell said,
in apology. “Will you go right in and see her, if you please, sir? and I
will look after your horse.”
“How is she?” demanded the doctor.
“I think she is better. She has been asleep ever since about midnight,
only rousing up when I’ve given her food.”
A broad smile broke over the doctor’s rugged face, quite transforming
it, and he exclaimed, in a delighted tone—
“Well, that is good hearing! If she has slept so long she will pull
through now, with care.”
Nell led the horse away to the barn. Giles had gone with his two horses
and the wagon to fetch a last load of corn from a distant field; but he
had told her before he went where she could find a feed for the doctor’s
horse, and when she had done this, she stayed to give the heated animal
a rub down, just as she used to do for old Blossom.
When she entered the house, she found that the sick woman was awake, and
talking to the doctor in rational though feeble tones.
“So good of you, doctor, to find me such a kind nurse. I must have died
last night, if some one had not come to help me. Giles is a dear good
fellow, but he is clumsy when it comes to sickness, like most other
men.”
Nell walked into the room at this moment, and her dark eyes had a
wistful entreaty in them as she looked at the doctor. She was mutely
begging that he would not betray her just yet, and everything that was
chivalrous under that rugged exterior responded to the appeal.
“I am glad you like the nurse,” he said, with a nod of encouragement to
Nell, who stood where the woman on the bed could not see her. “I was
very worried myself when I found that Miss Lorimer could not come as she
had promised, but Miss—Miss——Let me see, what did you say your name
was?” And he jerked his head in Nell’s direction.
“Hamblyn—Eleanor Hamblyn,” she answered, in a low tone.
“Well, Miss Hamblyn has come at the right time to save your life, and if
you will pay attention and do as she says, without doubt you will soon
be well again,” Dr. Shaw said, talking now in a dictatorial fashion,
which meant that he was to be obeyed to the smallest detail.
“If she tells me to lie in bed and not worry, I’ll do that, thankful
enough,” Mrs. Munson replied, with a feeble laugh. Then she closed her
eyes, and lay as if asleep, while the doctor talked to Nell.
“I shall not come over again for three days; Mrs. Munson won’t need it,
and I’m badly wanted in other directions. Are you able to stay on and
take care of her until she is better?” he asked, with a sharp look at
Nell, whom he had beckoned to follow him to the other room, so that the
sick woman might not be disturbed.
“Oh yes; I can stay if you think they won’t mind having me,” she
faltered. “But I came without being asked, you know.”
“You came in the very nick of time, too. And as to your staying—well,
it is Mrs. Munson and Giles Bailey who are in your debt, not you in
theirs. Mrs. Munson will need careful nursing for the next few days, for
she is very low down; but with care she’ll do very well. Are you used to
sick folks, eh?” And again his sharp glance seemed as if it would read
her thoughts.
But Nell looked at him with honest, unembarrassed eyes which disarmed
all suspicion.
“Father was sick for a long time before he died; but that was years ago.
Since then I’ve only had dogs and horses to nurse when they weren’t
well, for nothing ever ailed granfer.”
“Except in temper, I suppose. I know the sort,” he said, with a grim
laugh at his own joke; then he asked quickly, “Is your mother dead too?”
“Yes. She died when I was a little girl,” Nell replied. Then she asked,
after a moment of hesitation, “Will you please tell me about the other
girl—Miss Lorimer, I mean—and why she did not come?”
“She ought to have come, or let me know that she couldn’t do as she had
promised,” the doctor said, with a frown. “But, seeing what trouble they
are in, it is not wonderful she lost her head and forgot. She is
Gertrude Lorimer, the eldest of Abe Lorimer’s children. Two of her
brothers, bright promising boys, were buried last Sunday. I had to go to
Lorimer’s Clearing the day before yesterday, and I asked Gertrude if she
could come and take care of Mrs. Munson for a few days, and she promised
that she would come over yesterday morning, so I rested easy in my mind
about my patient. But, to my dismay, when I got to Lorimer’s Clearing
this morning, I found that Mrs. Lorimer had been taken ill yesterday,
and was in bed, and that Gertrude had simply forgotten all about her
promise to come here.”
“Poor girl!” murmured Nell, sympathetically.
The doctor frowned, shook his head, but finally relented enough to admit
that Gertrude was deserving of some little pity, even although she had
forgotten her promise.
“I will admit that I should not have found it easy to forgive her, if
Mrs. Munson had died from want of nursing. On the other hand, if she had
sent me word, I don’t know where I could have found a woman who could be
spared to come here for the work.”
“You ought to be grateful to her for not letting you know then, because
now you have not had to worry about it so long,” Nell said, smiling, as
she prepared a hasty meal for the doctor.
But he was not disposed to admit so much, and shook his head a great
deal while he ate his lunch. He talked to Nell in a cheerful, friendly
fashion, but asked her no more questions about herself, rightly divining
that there was trouble behind, of which she did not find it easy to
speak. He was fearful, too, of scaring her away from a place where she
was so badly needed, so he took pains to reassure her.
When he was ready to go, she brought Dobbin from the barn for him; then,
as he was mounting, she asked, with wistful inquiry in her tone—
“Can you tell me, please, how far it is from here to the Canadian
border?”
He looked down at her with a friendly smile. “Nine or ten miles. Why do
you want to know?”
“I am going there when Mrs. Munson has done with me,” she answered
quietly.
“Going there? Where? It is a rather large order, don’t you know, to say
you are going to Canada, because, you see, it is so big.”
“I don’t know where, but I shall be sure to find work, shan’t I? Granfer
said there was work for everyone in Canada,” she said, a little
anxiously.
“Humph! well, I suppose there is, only the trouble is that people won’t
always do it. However, I don’t fancy there will be much trouble in your
case, either in the getting or the doing, when you come over the border;
and if you can’t get work, I will ask Mrs. Shaw to find you some if you
come to Nine Springs.”
“Nine Springs? What a pretty name! Is that where you live? If I can’t
get work, I will come, but I shan’t trouble you if I can help it,” Nell
said, while a bright flush of excitement kept coming and going in her
cheeks because of the kindness which was being shown to her by this
stranger.
“What sort of work can you do—I mean what sort do you like best?” the
doctor asked.
Nell’s brow clouded. “Oh, I like everything; but I don’t know how to do
any except rough work, what everyone can do, I mean.”
“If you like everything, and are willing to work, you won’t be long in
finding your vocation, I fancy. Meanwhile take care of Mrs. Munson, and
in three days I will come again,” he said, with a kindly nod. Then he
rode through the gate which Nell opened for him, and he was soon out of
sight round the bend in the trail.
Nell walked back to the house in a thoughtful mood; her fancy was busy
with that other girl who had promised to come, but had forgotten through
stress of other things.
“Suppose she had come, what should I have done?” she murmured with a
sudden catch of her breath, for her plight had been a very desperate
one; then, because she was by nature unselfish, she quickly thought of
the other side of the question, “What would Mrs. Munson have done if no
one had come?”
As she paused on the threshold, looking round at the glory of the
outdoor world before entering the house, some words of her dead father,
spoken in the last days of his life, came into her mind.
“We are all a part of God’s great plan, and there is a niche for every
one of us to fill, so let us see that neither by discontent nor fear we
spoil the Creator’s purpose concerning us.”