unced pork and pickles as a child's
diet, and made such a fuss about air-tight bedrooms that Jake Sawyer,
who, in company with his wife, lived in terror lest a draught of night
air should blow on the orphans' precious heads, was forced into the
patient complaint that though the doctor was a fine young man, and
their eldest was just crazy over him, still he believed, if he had his
way, he'd turn folks out of house and home, to live in the road, like
tinkers.

The busier Gilbert became the happier he grew. Elmbrook stood, in the
center of a rich agricultural district, his patients were mostly
wealthy farmers, and he began to feel that he was not so far from his
ambition, after all. He would be well enough off at the end of two
years to set up a city practice and make a home for Rosalie.

Among the doctor's first social appearances was tea at the manse, where
he met again the beautiful Miss Cameron. She came with her brother
Malcolm, who was Gilbert's assistant since he had returned from
college. When he was not too busy in the fields, or in dancing
attendance on Marjorie Scott, the young man rendered the doctor
considerable help.

It was a warm evening, and when tea was finished the company sat out on
the veranda. The manse and the church were in full view of the
village, half a mile distant, and a fine target for the telescope, as
the minister's wife well knew. But here they were screened from
observation by the vines.

"You have never heard Miss Cameron sing, have you, Dr. Allen?" asked
the minister's wife. "Then there's a treat in store for you. Run in
and give us a song, Elsie, dear."

Gilbert murmured something polite. He was quite sure Miss Cameron's
singing would be very sweet and pretty, like herself; but he still had
tingling recollections of the whip-poor-will song, and his anxiety to
hear more Elmbrook talent was only mild.

The girl arose from the steps and returned to the twilight of the
parlor. "Give us 'Abide with me,' Elsie," called the minister, leaning
back in his worn armchair with a contented sigh.

"That's the one father always asks for," said his wife, with a smile.
"He says he'd rather hear your Elsie sing that, Malcolm, than listen to
the best minister in Canada preach."

Young Malcolm turned reluctantly. He was seated on the bottom step,
engaged in an absorbing conversation with the minister's eldest
daughter, and did not like to be interrupted; but he knew better than
to neg