The Story of a Doctor's Telephone—Told by His Wife. Firebaugh Ellen M.

she whispered back.

      The doctor rose and went out. “Who's at the office?” he asked, as he walked away with the boy.

      “She's not there yet, she telephoned. I told her you was at church.”

      “Did she say she couldn't wait?”

      “She said she had been at church too, but a bug flew in her ear and she had to leave, and she guessed you'd have to leave too, because she couldn't stand it. She said it felt awful.”

      “Where is she?”

      “She was at a house by the Methodist church, she said, when she 'phoned to see if you was at the office. When I told her I'd get you from the other church, she said she'd be at the office by the time you got there.”

      And she was, sitting uneasily in a big chair.

      “Doctor, I've had a flea in my ear sometimes, but this is a different proposition. Ugh! Please get this creature out now. It feels as big as a bat. Ugh! It's crawling further in, hurry!”

      “Maybe we'd better wait a minute and see if it won't be like some other things, in at one ear and out at the other.”

      “O, hurry, it'll get so far in you can't reach it.”

      “Turn more to the light,” commanded the doctor, and in a few seconds he held up the offending insect.

      “O, you only got a little of it!”

      “I got it all.”

      “Well, it certainly felt a million times bigger than that,” and she departed radiantly happy.

      CHAPTER IV

      One day in early spring the doctor surprised his wife by asking her if she would like to take a drive.

      “In March? The roads are not passable yet, surely.”

      But the doctor assured her that the roads were getting pretty good except in spots. “I have such a long journey ahead of me today that I want you to ride out as far as Centerville and I can pick you up as I come back.”

      “That's seven or eight miles. I'll go. I can stop at Dr. Parkin's and chat with Mrs. Parkin till you come.”

      Accordingly a few minutes later the doctor and Mary were speeding along through the town which they soon left far behind them.

      About two miles out they saw a buggy down the road ahead of them which seemed to be at a stand-still. When they drew near they found a woman at the horses' heads with a broken strap in her hand. She was gazing helplessly at the buggy which stood hub-deep in mud. She recognized the doctor and called out, “Dr. Blank, if ever I needed a doctor in my life, it's now.”

      “Stuck fast, eh?”

      The doctor handed the reins to his wife and got out.

      “I see – a broken single-tree. Well, I always unload when I get stuck, so the first thing we do we'll take this big lummox out of here,” he said picking his way to the buggy. The lummox rose to her feet with a broad grin and permitted herself to be taken out. She was a fat girl about fourteen years old.

      “My! I'll bet she weighs three hundred pounds,” observed the doctor when she was landed, which was immediately resented. Then he took the hitching-rein and tied the tug to the broken end of the single-tree; after which he went to the horses' heads and commanded them to “Come on.” They started and the next instant the vehicle was on terra firma. Mother and daughter gave the doctor warm thanks and each buggy went its separate way.

      Mary was looking about her. “The elms have a faint suspicion that spring is coming; the willows only are quite sure of it,” she said, noting their tender greenth which formed a soft blur of color, the only color in all the gray landscape. No, there is a swift dash of blue, for a jay has settled down on the top of a rail just at our travelers' right.

      Soon they were crossing a long and high bridge spanning a creek which only a week before had been a raging torrent; the drift, caught and held by the trunks of the trees, and the weeds and grasses all bending in one direction, told the story. But the waters had subsided and now lay in deep, placid pools.

      “Stop, John, quick!” commanded Mary when they were about half way across. The doctor obeyed wondering what could be the matter. He looked at his wife, who was gazing down into the pool beneath.

      “I suppose I'm to stop while you count all the fish you can see.”

      “I was looking at that lovely concave sky down there. See those two white clouds floating so serenely across the blue far, far below the tip-tops of the elm trees.”

      The doctor drove relentlessly on.

      “Another mudhole,” said Mary after a while, “but this time the travelers tremble on the brink and fear to launch away.”

      When they came up they found a little girl standing by the side of the horse holding up over its back a piece of the harness. She held it in a very aimless and helpless way. “See,” said Mary, “she doesn't know what to do a bit more than I should. I wonder if she can be alone.”

      The doctor got out and went forward to help her and discovered a young man sitting cozily in the carriage. He glanced at him contemptuously.

      “Your harness is broken, have you got a string?” he asked abruptly.

      “N-n-o, I haven't,” said the youth feeling about his pockets.

      “Take your shoe-string. If you haven't got one I'll give you mine,” and he set his foot energetically on the hub of the wheel to unlace his shoe.

      “Why, I've got one here, I guess,” and the young man lifted a reluctant foot. The doctor saw and understood. The little sister was to fix the harness in order to save her brother's brand new shoes from the mud.

      “You'd better fix that harness yourself, my friend, and fix it strong,” was the doctor's parting injunction as he climbed into the buggy and started on.

      “I don't like the looks of this slough of despond,” said Mary. The next minute the horses were floundering through it, tugging with might and main. Now the wheels have sunk to the hubs and the horses are straining every muscle.

      “Merciful heaven!” gasped Mary. At last they were safely through, and the doctor looking back said, “That is the last great blot on our civilization – bad roads.”

      After a while there came from across the prairie the ascending, interrogative boo-oo-m of a prairie chicken not far distant, while from far away came the faint notes of another. And now a different note, soft, melodious and mournful is heard.

      “How far away do you think that dove is?” asked the doctor.

      “It sounds as if it might be half a mile.”

      “It is right up here in this tree in the field.”

      “Is it,” said Mary, looking up. “Yes, I see, it's as pretty and soft as its voice. But I'm getting sunburned, John. How hot a March day can get!”

      “Only two more miles and good road all the way.”

      A few minutes more and Mary was set down at Centerville, “I'll be back about sunset,” announced her husband as he drove off.

      A very pleasant-faced woman answered the knock at the door. She had a shingle in her hand and several long strips of muslin over her arm. She smilingly explained that she didn't often meet people at the door with a shingle but that she was standing near the door when the knock came.

      Mary, standing by the bed and removing hat and gloves, looked about her.

      “What are you doing with that shingle and all this cotton and stuff, Mrs. Parkin?” she asked.

      “Haven't you ever made a splint?”

      “A splint? No indeed, I'm not equal to that.”

      “That's what I'm doing now. There's a boy with a broken arm in the office in the next room.”

      “Oh, your husband has his office here at the house.”

      “Yes,