CHAPTER II.

THE DOCTOR.


The doctor sat in his buggy, leaning forward, and talking to the
child. A florid, jovial-looking man, bright-eyed and deep-chested,
with a voice like a trumpet, and a general air of being the West Wind
in person. He was not alone this time: another doctor sat beside him;
and Miss Vesta smoothed her ruffled front at sight of the stranger.

"Good-morning, Vesta," shouted the doctor, cheerily. "You came out to
shoot me, because you thought I was coming to carry off Melody, eh?
You needn't say no, for I know your musket-shot expression. Dr.
Anthony, let me present you to Miss Vesta Dale,--a woman who has never
had the grace to have a day's sickness since I have known her, and
that's forty years at least."

"Miss Dale is a fortunate woman," said Dr. Anthony, smiling. "Have you
many such constitutions in your practice, Brown?"

"I am fool enough to wish I had," growled Dr Brown. "That woman, sir,
is enough to ruin any practice, with her pernicious example of
disgusting health. How is Rejoice this morning, Vesta? Does she want
to see me?"

Miss Vesta thought not, to-day; then followed questions and answers,