stuck in the sash, and then they get out o' sight and pull, and it
clacks against the winder, don't ye see? Ain't it surprisin' how them
devil's tricks gets handed down from gineration to gineration, while
so much that's good is forgot," lamented Mrs. Meeker, but the doctor
looked much amused.

"She's a bright child," he said, "and not over strong. I don't believe
in keeping young folks shut up in the schoolhouses all summer long."

Mrs. Meeker sniffed disapprovingly. "She's tougher than ellum roots. I
believe you can't kill them peakèd-looking young ones. She'll run like
a fox all day long and live to see us all buried. I can put up with
her pranks; 't is of pore old Mis' Thacher I'm thinkin'. She's had
trouble enough without adding on this young 'scape-gallows. You had
better fetch her up to be a doctor," Mrs. Meeker smilingly continued,
"I was up there yisterday, and one of the young turkeys had come
hoppin' and quawkin' round the doorsteps with its leg broke, and she'd
caught it and fixed it off with a splint before you could say Jack
Robi'son. She told how it was the way you'd done to Jim Finch that
fell from the hay-rigging and broke his arm over to Jake an' Martin's,
haying time."

"I remember she was standing close by, watching everything I did,"
said the doctor, his face shining with interest and pleasure. "I
shall have to carry her about for clerk. Her father studied medicine
you know. It is the most amazing thing how people inherit"--but he did
not finish his sentence and pulled the reins so quickly that the wise
horse knew there was no excuse for not moving forward.

Mrs. Meeker had hoped for a longer interview. "Stop as you come back,