my washin' ye. Ye're full o' thistles and jest as dirty as when I
throwed ye in the water. Come out o' that, I tell ye! Now, Meg,
darlin'"--this came in a coaxing tone--"come out like a good dog--sure
I'm not goin' in them brambles to hunt ye!"

A clatter of hoofs rang out on the morning air. A two-wheeled gig drawn
by a well-groomed sorrel horse and followed by a brown-haired Irish
setter was approaching. In it sat a man of thirty, dressed in a long,
mouse-colored surtout with a wide cape falling to the shoulders. On his
head was a soft gray hat and about his neck a white scarf showing above
the lapels of his coat. He had thin, shapely legs, a flat waist, and
square shoulders, above which rose a clean-shaven face of singular
sweetness and refinement.

At the sound of the wheels the tattered cur poked his head from between
the blossoms, twisted his one ear to catch the sound, and with a
side-spring bounded up the road toward the setter.

"Well, I declare, if it ain't Dr. John Cavendish and Rex!" Martha
exclaimed, raising both hands in welcome as the horse stopped beside
her. "Good-mornin' to ye, Doctor John. I thought it was you, but the
sun blinded me, and I couldn't see. And ye never saw a better nor a
brighter mornin'. These spring days is all blossoms, and they ought to
be. Where ye goin', anyway, that ye're in such a hurry? Ain't nobody
sick up to Cap'n Holt's, be there?" she added, a shade of anxiety
crossing her face.

"No, Martha; it's the dressmaker," answered the doctor, tightening the
reins on the restless sorrel as he spoke. The voice was low and kindly
and had a ring of sincerity through it.

"What dressmaker?"

"Why, Miss Gossaway!" His hand was extended now--that fine, delicately
wrought, sympathetic hand that had soothed so many aching heads.

"You've said it," laughed Martha, leaning over the wheel so as to press
his fingers in her warm palm. "There ain't no doubt 'bout that skinny
fright being 'Miss,' and there ain't no doubt 'bout her stayin' so. Ann
Gossaway she is, and Ann Gossaway she'll die. Is she took bad?" she
continued, a merry, questioning look lighting up her kindly face, her
lips pursed knowingly.

"No, only a sore throat" the doctor replied, loosening his coat.

"Throat!" she rejoined, with a wry look on her face. "Too bad 'twarn't
her tongue. If ye could snip off a bit o' that some day it would help
folks considerable 'round here."

The doctor laughed in answer, dropped the l