r's sick with kidney trouble, and Dr. Gridley said I
was to come out here."

"Oh, all right. Wait'll I git my big knife," and back he went, returning
later with a large horn-handled knife, which he opened. He preceded me
out through the barn lot and into the orchard beyond.

"Dr. Gridley sent cha, did he, huh?" he asked as he went. "Well, I guess
we all have ter comply with whatever the doctor orders. We're all apt
ter git sick now an' ag'in," and talking trivialities of a like
character, he cut me an armful, saying: "I might as well give ya too
many as too few. Peach sprigs! Now, I never heered o' them bein' good
fer anythin', but I reckon the doctor knows what he's talkin' about. He
usually does--or that's what we think around here, anyhow."

In the dusk I trudged home with my armful, my fingers cold. The next
morning, the tea having been brewed and taken, my father was better. In
a week or two he was up and around, as well as ever, and during this
time he commented on the efficacy of this tea, which was something new
to him, a strange remedy, and which caused the whole incident to be
impressed upon my mind. The doctor had told him that at any time in the
future if he was so troubled and could get fresh young peach sprigs for
a tea, he would find that it would help him. And the drug expense was
exactly nothing.

In later years I came to know him better--this thoughtful, crusty,
kindly soul, always so ready to come at all hours when his cases
permitted, so anxious to see that his patients were not taxed beyond
their financial resources.

I remember once, one of my sisters being very ill, so ill that we were
beginning to fear death, one and another of us had to take turn sitting
up with her at night to help and to give her her medicine regularly.
During one of the nights when I was sitting up, dozing, reading and
listening to the wind in the pines outside, she seemed persistently to
get worse. Her fever rose, and she complained of such aches and pains
that finally I had to go and call my mother. A consultation with her
finally resulted in my being sent for Dr. Gridley--no telephones in
those days--to tell him, although she hesitated so to do, how sister was
and ask him if he would not come.

I was only fourteen. The street along which I had to go was quite dark,
the town lights being put out at two a.m., for reasons of thrift
perhaps. There was a high wind that cried in the trees. My shoes on the
board walks, her