ed everyone of that. The people were, naturally, greatly
interested in their new doctor, and were prepared to give him a hearty
welcome.

His arrival was a little disappointing. He drove from the station at
Derrymore on Paddy Doolan's car, and had only a small portmanteau with
him. He was expected to come in a motor of his own with a vanload of
furniture behind him. His appearance was also disappointing. He was a
young man. He looked so very young that a stranger might have guessed
his age at eighteen. He wore large, round spectacles, and had
pink, chubby cheeks. In one respect only did he come up to popular
expectation. He was plainly a young man of feeble intellect, for he
allowed Paddy Doolan to overcharge him in the grossest way.

"Thanks be to God," said Sergeant Rahilly to Mr. Flanagan, "it's seldom
anyone's sick in this place. I wouldn't like to be trusting the likes of
that young fellow very far. But what odds? We've got to do the best we
can for him, and my family's healthy, anyway."

Fate has a nasty trick of hitting us just where we feel most secure. The
sergeant himself was a healthy man. His wife did not know what it was
to be ill. Molly, his twelve-year old daughter, was as sturdy a child
as any in the town. But Molly had an active mind and an enterprising
character. On the afternoon of Doctor Lovaway's arrival, her mother,
father, and most other people being fully occupied, she made her way
round the back of the village, climbed the wall of the doctor's garden
and established herself in an apple tree. She took six other children
with her. There was an abundant crop of apples, but they were not nearly
ripe. Molly ate until she could eat no more. The other children, all of
them younger than Molly, stuffed themselves joyfully with the hard green
fruit.

At eight o'clock that evening Molly complained of pains. Her mother put
her to bed. At half-past eight Molly's pains were considerably worse and
she began to shriek. Mrs. Ra-hilly, a good deal agitated by the violence
of the child's yells, told the sergeant to go for the doctor. Sergeant
Rahilly laid down his newspaper and his pipe. He went slowly down the
street towards the doctor's house. He was surprised to hear shrieks,
not unlike Molly's, in various houses as he passed. Mrs. Conerney, the
butcher's wife, rushed out of her door and told the sergeant that her
little boy, a child of nine, was dying in frightful agony.

Mr. Flanagan was standing at the