"Who in the world ever gave him that ridiculous nickname?" asked Mrs.
Blythe.

"Why, the Lowbridge boys have called him that ever since I can remember,
Mrs. Dr. dear--I suppose because his face is so round and red, with
that fringe of sandy whisker about it. It does not do for anyone to call
him that in his hearing, though, and that you may tie to. But worse than
his whiskers, Mrs. Dr. dear, he is a very unreasonable man and has a
great many queer ideas. He is an elder now and they say he is very
religious; but I can well remember the time, Mrs. Dr. dear, twenty years
ago, when he was caught pasturing his cow in the Lowbridge graveyard.
Yes, indeed, I have not forgotten that, and I always think of it when he
is praying in meeting. Well, that is all the notes and there is not much
else in the paper of any importance. I never take much interest in
foreign parts. Who is this Archduke man who has been murdered?"

"What does it matter to us?" asked Miss Cornelia, unaware of the hideous
answer to her question which destiny was even then preparing. "Somebody
is always murdering or being murdered in those Balkan States. It's their
normal condition and I don't really think that our papers ought to print
such shocking things. The Enterprise is getting far too sensational with
its big headlines. Well, I must be getting home. No, Anne dearie, it's
no use asking me to stay to supper. Marshall has got to thinking that if
I'm not home for a meal it's not worth eating--just like a man. So off
I go. Merciful goodness, Anne dearie, what is the matter with that cat?
Is he having a fit?"--this, as Doc suddenly bounded to the rug at Miss
Cornelia's feet, laid back his ears, swore at her, and then disappeared
with one fierce leap through the window.

"Oh, no. He's merely turning into Mr. Hyde--which means that we shall