CHAPTER VI.
The Hum of Preparation.



Miss Whitmore ran down to the blacksmith shop, waving an official-
looking paper in her hand.

"I've got it, J. G.!"

"Got what--smallpox?" J. G. did not even look up from the iron he was
welding.

"No, my license. I'm a really, truly doctor now, and you needn't laugh,
either. You said you'd give a dance if I passed, and I did. Happy Jack
brought it just now."

"Brought the dance?" The Old Man gave the bellows a pull which sent a
shower of sparks toward the really, truly doctor.

"Brought the license," she explained, patiently. "You can see for
yourself. They were awfully nice to me--they seemed to think a girl
doctor is some kind of joke out here. They didn't make it any easier,
though; they acted as if they didn't expect me to pass--but I did!"

The Old Man rubbed one smutty hand down his trousers leg and extended
it for the precious document. "Let me have a look at it," he said,
trying to hide his pride in her.