smallpox--that's my record, sir!"

"Looks like my children will ketch a fly-bite," said the miller,
apologetically.

A little farther on the doctor was stopped again--this time by a
maiden in a pink-and-white gingham, with a mass of light curls
bobbing about her face.

"Dad!" she called as she scrambled over the fence. "Where you g-going,
dad?"

The doctor flapped the lines nervously and tried to escape, but she
pursued him madly. Catching up with the buggy, she pulled herself up
on the springs and thrust an impudent, laughing face through the
window at the back.

"Annette," scolded her father, "aren't you ashamed? Fourteen years
old, and a tomboy! Get down!"

"Where you g-going, dad?" she stammered, unabashed.

"To Judge Hollis's. Get down this minute!"

"What for?"

"Somebody's sick. Get down, I say!"

Instead of getting down, she got in, coming straight through the small
window, and arriving in a tangle of pink and white at his side.