echoed Diantha's sigh. The
doctor's appearance suggested that she might be needed to act as nurse
in some household too poor to pay for professional care. For a dozen
years the old doctor had called on her freely for such gratuitous
service, and his successor had promptly fallen into a similar practise.
At this juncture Persis felt a most unchristian reluctance to act the
part of ministering angel in any sick room. Nothing adds to a woman's
apparent age so rapidly as working by day and caring for the sick at
night. Persis had seen herself, on more than one occasion, take on ten
years in a week of such double duty. And just now she wanted to appear
youthful and pretty, not haggard and worn. She greeted the doctor less
cordially than was her wont for the reason that in her heart she knew
she must do whatever he asked.

Doctor Ballard shook hands with Persis, nodded casually to Diantha and
waited openly for that ingenuous young person to take her departure.
As the door closed behind her, he dropped into the armchair she had
vacated, crossed his legs and sighed.

"Miss Persis, I'm up a tree. I want some advice."

"You're welcome to all I've got." Persis, regretting the reserve of
her greeting, beamed upon him affectionately.

"Did you ever know a woman to die just because she'd decided that was
the proper caper?"

"Trouble?" Persis questioned laconically.

"Lord, no! Everything comfortable. Husband who worships her. As far
as I can diagnose the case, it's a sort of homesickness for the pearly
gates."

"Kind of as if she'd got disgusted with this world," suggested Persis,
with one of her flashes of intuition, "and wanted to get some place
where things would be more congenial."

"You've hit it to a T. Now, what I want to know is this, can people
keep up that kind of nonsense till they die of it? I've got a patient
right now who's lost thirty pounds by it. She won't eat. She won't
make an effort. She sits around smiling like an angel off on
sick-leave, and the same as tells me I can't do anything for her
because she's wanted over the river. Husband's about crazy."

"What's her name?"

Professional caution did not seal Doctor Ballard's tips. In many a
sick room, by more than one deathbed, he and this keen-eyed woman had
come to know each other with a completeness of understanding which even
wedlock does not always bring. "It's Nelson Richards' wife," he said
without hesitation, nor did he ask he