like a
yellow dog as I have. Anyhow, I'll have to do, for father's not at
home. Who's dead?"

"It's Araminta," explained Miss Hitty, already greatly relieved. "She
fell off a step-ladder and ain't come to yet."

Doctor Ralph's face grew grave. "Wait a minute." He went into the
office and returned almost immediately. As luck would have it, the
doctor's carriage was at the door, waiting for a hurry call.

"Jump in," commanded Doctor Ralph. "You can tell me about it on the
way. Where do we go?"

Miss Hitty issued directions to the driver and climbed in. In spite of
her trouble, she was not insensible of the comfort of the cushions nor
the comparative luxury of the conveyance. She was also mindful of the
excitement her presence in the doctor's carriage produced in her
acquaintances as they rushed past.

By dint of much questioning, Doctor Ralph obtained a full account of
the accident, all immaterial circumstances being brutally eliminated as
they cropped up in the course of her speech. "It's God's own mercy,"
said Miss Hitty, as they stopped at the gate, "that we'd cleaned that
room. We couldn't have got it any cleaner if 't was for a layin' out
instead of a sickness. Oh, Ralph," she pleaded, "don't let Minty die!"

"Hush!" said Doctor Ralph, sternly. He spoke with an authority new to
Miss Hitty, who, in earlier days, had been wont to drive Ralph out of
her incipient orchard with a bed slat, sharpened at one end into a
formidable weapon of offence.

Araminta was still unconscious, but she was undressed, and in bed, clad
in one of Miss Evelina's dainty but yellowed nightgowns. Doctor Ralph
worked with incredible quickness and Miss Hitty watched him, wondering,
frightened, yet with a certain sneaking confidence in him.

"Fracture of the ankle," he announced, briefly, "and one or two bad
bruises. Plaster cast and no moving."

When Araminta returned to consciousness, she thought she was dead and
had gone to Heaven. The room was heavy with soothing antiseptic
odours, and she seemed to be suspended in a vapoury cloud. On the edge
of the cloud hovered Miss Evelina, veiled, and Aunt Hitty, who was most
assuredly crying. There was a stranger, too, and Araminta gazed at him
questioningly.

Doctor Ralph's hand, firm and cool, closed over hers. "Don't you
remember me, Araminta?" he asked, much as one would speak to a child.
"The last time I saw you, you were hanging out a basket of clothes.
The grass wa