Barlow slouched into a conversational posture, easily resting on his
raised hip the back of the hand in which he held the chickens. "Well, it
's accordin' to who you ask. Some says six mile, and real clever folks
makes it about four and a quarter."

"I ask you," persisted Grace.

"Well, the last time I was there, I thought it was about sixty. 'Most
froze my fingers goin' round the point. 'N' all I was afraid of was
gettin' there too soon. Tell you, a lee shore ain't a pleasant neighbor
in a regular old northeaster. 'F you go by land, I guess it's about ten
mile round through the woods. Want to send for Dr. Mulbridge? I thought
mebbe"--

"No, no!" said Grace. She turned back into the house, and then she came
running out again; but by this time Barlow had gone into the kitchen,
where she heard him telling the cook that these were the last of the
dommyneckers. At breakfast several of the ladies came and asked after
Mrs. Maynard, whose restless night they had somehow heard of. When she
came out of the dining-room' Miss Gleason waylaid her in the hall.

"Dr. Breen," she said, in a repressed tumult, "I hope you won't give way.
For woman's sake, I hope you won't! You owe it to yourself not to give
way! I'm sure Mrs. Maynard is as well off in your hands as she can be. If
I did n't think so, I should be the last to advise your being firm; but,
feeling as I do, I do advise it most strongly. Everything depends on it."

"I don't know what you mean, Miss Gleason," said Grace.