needless mystery of his suspicions. In any case he was evidently a man
who despised all quackery from the bottom of his heart. The old doctor
looked at him with a frown of disapproval, as if his frank confession had
violated the unwritten laws of medical etiquette.

"If you will allow me to watch the case," he resumed, "under the
superintendence of my respected colleague, I shall be happy to submit to
approval any palliative treatment which may occur to me. My respected
colleague knows that I am always ready to learn."

His respected colleague made a formal bow, looked at his watch, and
hastened away to another patient. Doctor Dormann, taking up his hat,
stopped to look at Mother Barbara, fast asleep in her easy chair by the
bedside.

"I must find you a competent nurse to-morrow," he said. "No, not one of
the hospital women--we want someone with finer feelings and tenderer
hands than theirs. In the meantime, one of you must sit up with Mr.
Keller to-night. If I am not wanted before, I will be with you to-morrow
morning."

I volunteered to keep watch; promising to call Mr. Engelman if any
alarming symptoms showed themselves. The old housekeeper, waking after
her first sleep, characteristically insisted on sending me to bed, and
taking my place. I was too anxious and uneasy (if I may say it of myself)
to be as compliant as usual. Mother Barbara, for once, found that she had
a resolute person to deal with. At a less distressing time, there would
have been something irresistibly comical in her rage and astonishment,
when I settled the dispute by locking her out of the room.