slender figure with the bowed shoulders of an untiring scholar. His
head was finely set and scholarly, and there was that about him which
gave certainty, not only of his sagacity and skill, but of his true
manhood, his mastery of himself. Not only in this farm-house kitchen,
but wherever one might place him, he instinctively took command, while
from his great knowledge of human nature he could understand and help
many of his patients whose ailments were not wholly physical. He
seemed to read at a glance the shame and sorrow of the young woman who
had fled to the home of her childhood, dying and worse than defeated,
from the battle-field of life. And in this first moment he recognized
with dismay the effects of that passion for strong drink which had
been the curse of more than one of her ancestors. Even the pallor and
the purifying influence of her mortal illness could not disguise these
unmistakable signs.

"You can't do me any good, doctor," she whispered. "I shouldn't have
let you come if it had been only that. I don't care how soon I am out
of this world. But I want you should look after my little girl," and
the poor soul watched the physician's face with keen anxiety as if
she feared to see a shadow of unwillingness, but none came.

"I will do the best I can," and he still held her wrist, apparently
thinking more of the fluttering pulse than of what poor Adeline was
saying.

"That was what made me willing to come back," she continued, "you
don't know how close I came to not doing it either. John will be good
to her, but she will need somebody that knows the world better by and
by. I wonder if you couldn't show me how to make out a paper giving
you the right over her till she is of age? She must stay here with