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

learn then to have a lot of pillow slips and sheets on hand. Old or new, Dr. Parkin just tears them up when he gets in a hurry – it doesn't matter to him what goes.”

      The doctor's wife put cotton over the whole length of the shingle and wound the strips of muslin around it; then taking a needle and thread she stitched it securely. Mary sat in her chair watching the process with much interest. “You have made it thicker in some places than in others,” she said.

      “Yes; that is to fit the inequalities of the arm.” Mary looked at her admiringly. “You are something of an artist,” she observed.

      Just as Mrs. Parkin finished it her husband appeared in the doorway.

      “Is it done?” he asked.

      “It's just finished.”

      “May I see you put it on, Doctor?” asked Mary, rising and coming forward.

      “Why, good afternoon, Mrs. Blank. I'm glad to see you out here. Yes, come right in. How's the doctor?”

      “Oh, he is well and happy – I think he expects to cut off a foot this afternoon.”

      A boy with a frightened look on his face stood in the doctor's office with one sleeve rolled up. The doctor adjusted the fracture, then applied the splint while his wife held it steady until he had made it secure. When the splint was in place and the boy had gone a messenger came to tell the doctor he was wanted six miles away.

      About half an hour afterward a little black-eyed woman came in and said she wanted some more medicine like the last she took.

      “The doctor's gone,” said Mrs. Parkin, “and will not be back for several hours.”

      “Well, you can get it for me, can't you?”

      “Do you know the name of it?”

      “No, but I believe I could tell it if I saw it,” said the patient, going to the doctor's shelves and looking closely at the bottles and phials with their contents of many colors. She took up a three-ounce bottle. “This is like the other bottle and I believe the medicine is just the same color. Yes, I'm sure it is,” she said, holding it up to the light. Mary looked at her and then at Mrs. Parkin.

      “I wouldn't like to risk it,” said the latter lady.

      “Oh, I'm not afraid. I don't want to wait until the doctor comes and I know this must be like the other. It's exactly the same color.”

      “My good woman,” said Mary, “you certainly will not risk that. It might kill you.”

      “No, Mrs. Dawson, you must either wait till the doctor comes or come again,” said Mrs. Parkin. The patient grumbled a little about having to make an extra trip and took her leave.

      When the door had closed behind her Mary asked the other doctor's wife if she often had patients like that.

      “Oh, yes. People come here when the doctor is away and either want me to prescribe for them or to prescribe for themselves.”

      “You don't do it, do you?”

      “Sometimes I do, when I am perfectly sure what I am doing. Having the office here in the house so many years I couldn't help learning a few things.”

      “I wouldn't prescribe for anything or anybody. I'd be afraid of killing somebody.” About an hour later Mary, looking out of the window, saw a wagon stopping at the gate. It contained a man and a woman and two well-grown girls.

      “Hello!” called the man.

      “People call you out instead of coming in. That is less trouble,” observed Mary. The doctor's wife went to the door.

      “Is Doc at home?”

      “No, he has gone to the country.”

      “How soon will he be back?”

      “Not before supper time, probably.”

      The man whistled, then looked at his wife and the two girls.

      “Well, Sally,” he said, “I guess we'd better git out and wait fur 'im.”

      “W'y, Pa, it'll be dark long before we git home, if we do.”

      “I can't help that. I'm not agoin' to drive eight miles tomorry or next day nuther.”

      “If ye'd 'a started two hour ago like I wanted ye to do, maybe Doc'd 'a been here and we c'd 'a been purty nigh home by this time.”

      “Shet up! I told ye I wasn't done tradin' then.”

      “It don't take me all day to trade a few aigs for a jug o' m'lasses an' a plug o' terbacker.”

      For answer the head of the house told his family to “jist roll out now.” They rolled out and in a few minutes they had all rolled in. Mrs. Parkin made a heroic effort not to look inhospitable which made Mary's heroic effort not to look amused still more heroic.

      When at last the afternoon was drawing to a close Mary went out into the yard to rest. She wished John would come. Hark! There is the ring of horses' hoofs down the quiet road. But these are white horses, John's are bays. She turns her head and looks into the west. Out in the meadow a giant oak-tree stands between her and the setting sun. Its upper branches are outlined against the grey cloud which belts the entire western horizon, while its lower branches are sharply etched against the yellow sky beneath the grey.

      What a calm, beautiful sky it was!

      She thought of some lines she had read more than once that morning … a bit from George Eliot's Journal:

      “How lovely to look into that brilliant distance and see the ship on the horizon seeming to sail away from the cold and dim world behind it right into the golden glory! I have always that sort of feeling when I look at sunset. It always seems to me that there in the west lies a land of light and warmth and love.”

      A carriage was now coming down the road at great speed. Mary saw it was her husband and went in to put on her things. In a few minutes more she was in the buggy and they were bound for home. It was almost ten o'clock when they got there. The trip had been so hard on the horses that all the spirit was taken out of them. The doctor, too, was exceedingly tired. “Forty-two miles is a long trip to make in an afternoon,” he said.

      “I hope Jack and Maggie are not up so late.”

      “It would be just like them to sit up till we came.”

      The buggy stopped; the door flew open and Jack and Maggie stood framed in the doorway with the leaping yellow firelight for a background.

      CHAPTER V

      Once in a while sympathy for a fellow mortal kept the doctor's wife an interested listener at the 'phone. Going, one morning, to speak to a friend about some little matter she heard her husband say:

      “What is it, doctor?” A physician in a little town some ten or twelve miles distant, who had called Dr. Blank in consultation a few days before, was calling him.

      “I think our patient is doing very well, but her heart keeps getting a little faster.”

      “How fast is it now?”

      “About 120.”

      “But the disease is pretty well advanced now – that doesn't mean as much as it would earlier. But you might push a little on the brandy, or the strychnine – how much brandy have you given her since I saw her?”

      “I have given her four ounces.”

      “Four ounces!”

      “Yes.”

      “Four ounces in three days? I think you must mean four drachms.”

      “Yes. It is drachms. Four ounces would be fixing things up. I've been giving her digitalis; what do you think about that?”

      “That's all right, but I think that strychnine would be a little better.”

      “Would you give her any aromatic spirits of ammonia?”

      “Does she rattle?”

      “A