which spoke of adoration, or
professionally felt the pulse in the manly hand offered for her
acceptance. So all departed but one persistent youth, who was such a
devoted Traddles it was impossible to quench him.

This was Tom, who was as faithful to his child sweetheart as she to
her 'pestle things', and gave a proof of fidelity that touched her very
much. He studied medicine for her sake alone, having no taste for it,
and a decided fancy for a mercantile life. But Nan was firm, and
Tom stoutly kept on, devoutly hoping he might not kill many of his
fellow-beings when he came to practise. They were excellent friends,
however, and caused much amusement to their comrades, by the
vicissitudes of this merry love-chase.

Both were approaching Plumfield on the afternoon when Mrs Meg and Mrs
Jo were talking on the piazza. Not together; for Nan was walking briskly
along the pleasant road alone, thinking over a case that interested her,
and Tom was pegging on behind to overtake her, as if by accident, when
the suburbs of the city were past--a little way of his, which was part
of the joke.

Nan was a handsome girl, with a fresh colour, clear eye, quick smile,
and the self-poised look young women with a purpose always have. She was
simply and sensibly dressed, walked easily, and seemed full of vigour,
with her broad shoulders well back, arms swinging freely, and the
elasticity of youth and health in every motion. The few people she met
turned to look at her, as if it was a pleasant sight to see a hearty,
happy girl walking countryward that lovely day; and the red-faced young
man steaming along behind, hat off and every tight curl wagging with
impatience, evidently agreed with them.

Presently a mild 'Hallo!' was borne upon the breeze, and pausing, with
an effort to look surprised that was an utter failure, Nan said affably:

'Oh, is that you, Tom?'

'Looks like it. Thought you might be walking out today'; and Tom's
jovial face beamed with pleasure.

'You knew it. How is your throat?' asked Nan in her professional tone,
which was always a quencher to undue raptures.

'Throat? Oh, ah! yes, I remember. It is well. The effect of that
prescription was wonderful. I'll never call homoeopathy a humbug again.'

'You were the humbug this time, and so were the unmedicated pellets
I gave you. If sugar or milk can cure diphtheria in this remarkable
manner, I'll make a note of it. O Tom, Tom, will you never be done
playing tricks?'