uperfluous
income and much unoccupied time, which she devoted to promiscuous
visiting and the relief (or otherwise) of her poorer and busier
neighbors. Mr. Carnegie had refused to accept the plea of her good heart
in excuse of her bad practice, and had denounced her, in a moment of
extreme irritation, as a presumptuous and mischievous woman; and Miss
Wort had publicly rejoined that she would not call in Mr. Carnegie if
she were at death's door, because who could expect a blessing on the
remedies of a man who was not a professor of religion? The most cordial
terms they affected was an armed neutrality. The doctor was never free
from suspicion of Miss Wort. Though she looked scared and deprecating,
she did not shrink from responsibility, and would administer a dose of
her own prescribing in even critical cases, and pacify the doubts and
fears of her unlucky patient with tender assurances that if it did her
no good, it could do her no harm. Men she let alone, they were safe from
her: she did not pretend to know the queer intricacies of their insides;
also their aversion for physic she had found to be invincible.

"Two of the pills ten minutes afore dinner-time, Miss Wort, ma'am, did
you say? It is not wrote so plain on the box as it might be," cried a
plaintive treble from the cottage door. The high hedge and a great bay
tree hid Mr. Carnegie from Mrs. Christie's view, but Miss Wort,
timorously aware of his observation, gave a guilty start, and shrieking
convulsively in the direction of the voice, "Yes, yes!" rushed to the
doctor's stirrup and burst into eager explanation:

"It is only Trotter's strengthening pills, Mr. Carnegie. The basis of
them is iron--iron or steel. I feel positive that they will be of
service to Mrs. Christie, poor thing! with that dreadful sinking at her
stomach; for I have tried them myself on similar occasions. No, Mr.
Carnegie, a crust of bread would not be more to the purpose. A crust of
bread, indeed! Dr. Thomson of Edinburgh, the famous surgeon, has the
highest opinion of Trotter."

Mr. Carnegie's face was a picture of disgust. He would have felt himself
culpable if he had not delivered an emphatic protest against Miss Wort's
experiments. Mrs. Christie had come trembling to the gate--a
pretty-featured woman, but sallow as old parchment--and the doctor
addressed his expostulations to her. Many defeats had convinced him of
the futility of appealing to Miss Wort.

"If you had not the digestio