Late one summer afternoon Dr. Leslie was waked from an unusually long
after-dinner nap by Marilla's footsteps along the hall. She remained
standing in the doorway, looking at him for a provoking length of
time, and finally sneezed in her most obtrusive and violent manner. At
this he sat up quickly and demanded to be told what was the matter,
adding that he had been out half the night before, which was no news
to the faithful housekeeper.

"There, I'm sure I didn't mean to wake you up," she said, with an
apparent lack of self-reproach. "I never can tell whether you are
asleep or only kind of drowsin'. There was a boy here just now from
old Mis' Cunningham's over on the b'ilin' spring road. They want you
to come over quick as convenient. She don't know nothin', the boy
said."

"Never did," grumbled the doctor. "I'll go, toward night, but I can't
do her any good."

"An' Mis' Thacher is out here waitin' too, but she says if you're busy
she'll go along to the stores and stop as she comes back. She looks to
me as if she was breakin' up," confided Marilla in a lower tone.

"Tell her I'm ready now," answered the doctor in a more cordial tone,
and though he said half to himself and half to Marilla that here was
another person who expected him to cure old age, he spoke
compassionately, and as if his heart were heavy with the thought of
human sorrow and suffering. But he greeted Mrs. Thacher most
cheerfully, and joked about Marilla's fear of a fly, as he threw open
the blinds of the study window which was best shaded from the sun.