down. You know I want you to do your doctoring in this life with
love to be gave to help smooth all pain." Mother regarded him
seriously over her glasses as she admonished.

"I will--I do, Mother," answered the Doctor, and his gray eyes
danced before he veiled them with his black lashes as he looked down
at his plate.

Miss Wingate flushed ever so slightly and busied herself with
spreading butter on a large piece of bread for Martin Luther, an
unnecessary attention, as she had performed that same office for him
just the moment before, and even he had not been able to make an
inroad thereon.

"I think you are right, Mrs. Mayberry," she said slowly after a
second's rally of her forces. "The sympathy and--and regard of one's
physician is very necessary at times and--and--" She paused, but not
so much as a glance out of the corner of her purple black eyes did
she throw in the direction of the Doctor.

"Course they ain't nothing so encouraging in the world as love, and
I think the sick oughter have it gave to 'em in large and frequent
doses! I'm thankful I've got so much in my heart that I can just
prescribe it liberal when needed. Dearie me, could that shadow be a
chicken-hawk? Just excuse me, children; finish your dinner while I
go out and look after my feather babies." And Mother hurried away
through the kitchen, leaving the singer lady and the Doctor sitting
at the table under the fragrant vine, with the replete Martin Luther
nodding his sleepy head down into his plate between them.