s of such a
character that Helen made no objection when her aunt proposed to call in
the physician again. Dr. Buxton came, and agreed with Miss Tewksbury as
to the gravity of the symptoms; but his prescription was oral.

"You must keep Helen indoors until she is a little stronger," he said to
Miss Tewksbury, "and then take her to a milder climate."

"Oh, not to Florida!" exclaimed Helen promptly.

"Not necessarily," said the doctor.

"Please don't twist your language, Dr. Buxton. You should say
necessarily not."

"And why not to Florida, young lady?" the doctor inquired.

"Ah, I have seen people that came from there," said Helen: "they were
too tired to talk much about the country, but something in their
attitude and appearance seemed to suggest that they had seen the
sea-serpent. Dear doctor, I have no desire to see the sea-serpent."

"Well, then, my dear child," said Dr. Buxton soothingly, "not to
Florida, but to nature's own sanitarium, the pine woods of Georgia.
Yes," the doctor went on, smiling as he rubbed the glasses of his
spectacles with his silk handkerchief, "nature's own sanitarium. I
tested the piny woods of Georgia thoroughly years ago. I drifted there
in my young days. I lived there, and taught school there. I grew strong
there, and I have always wanted to go back there."

"And now," said Helen, with a charmingly demure glance at the
enthusiastic physician, "you want to send Aunt Harriet and poor Me
forward as a skirmish-line. There is no antidote in your books for the
Ku-Klux."

"You will see new scenes and new people," said Dr. Buxton, laughing.
"You will get new ideas; above all, you will breathe the fresh air of
heaven spiced with the odor of pines. It will be the making of you, my
dear child."

Helen made various protests, some of them serious and some droll, but
the matter was practically settled when it became evident that Dr.
Buxton was not only earnestly but enthusiastically in favor of the
journey; and Helen's aunt at once began to make preparations. To some of
their friends it seemed a serious undertaking indeed. The newspapers of
that day were full of accounts of Ku-Klux outrages, and of equally
terrible reports of the social disorganization of the South. It seemed
at that time as though the politicians and the editors, both great and
small, and of every shade of belief, had determined to fight the war
over again--instituting a conflict which, though bloodless enough so far
as the