one of her usual business trips to the
village, and it seemed to be difficult for her to begin her story. Dr.
Leslie, taking a purely professional view of the case, began to
consider what form of tonic would be most suitable, whether she had
come to ask for one or not.

"I want to have a good talk with you about the little gell; Nanny, you
know;" she said at last, and the doctor nodded, and, explaining that
there seemed to be a good deal of draught through the room, crossed
the floor and gently shut the door which opened into the hall. He
smiled a little as he did it, having heard the long breath outside
which was the not unfamiliar signal of Marilla's presence. If she were
curious, she was a discreet keeper of secrets, and the doctor had more
than once indulged her in her sinful listening by way of friendliness
and reward. But this subject promised to concern his own affairs too
closely, and he became wary of the presence of another pair of ears.
He was naturally a man of uncommon reserve, and most loyal in keeping
his patients' secrets. If clergymen knew their congregations as well
as physicians do, the sermons would be often more closely related to
the parish needs. It was difficult for the world to understand why,
when Dr. Leslie was anything but prone to gossip, Marilla should have
been possessed of such a wealth of knowledge of her neighbors'
affairs. Strange to say this wealth was for her own miserly pleasure
and not to be distributed, and while she often proclaimed with
exasperating triumph that she had known for months some truth just
discovered by others, she was regarded by her acquaintances as if she
were a dictionary written in some foreign language; immensely
valuable, but of no practical use to themselves. It was sometimes
difficult not to make an attempt to borrow from her store of news, but
nothing delighted her more than to be so approached, and to present
impenetrable barriers of discretion to the enemy.

"How is Nanny getting on?" the doctor asked. "She looks stronger than
she did a year ago."

"Dear me, she's wild as ever," answered Mrs. Thacher, trying to smile;
"but I've been distressed about her lately, night and day. I thought
perhaps I might see you going by. She's gettin' to be a great girl,
doctor, and I ain't fit to cope with her. I find my strength's
a-goin', and I'm old before my time; all my folks was rugged and sound
long past my age, but I've had my troubles--you don't need I should