A certain noon as I started for school as usual Father said: “Eugenia, hurry up to the office when school is out; I want to take you to see Dr. Barnard.” To my questioning look he explained: “If you are bound to be a doctor, you may as well begin to find out something about it. I have talked with the Doctor; he says he will take you as a student; you can read in his office Saturdays and get a start in that way.” I wonder if my father knew how happy he made me that day. As I went back to school I trod on air. A radiance suffused my whole being. There was very little studying that afternoon--whispered explanations to a favoured few, wonderful tolerance on the principal’s part at my inattention to studies and open disregard of rules. We whispered and wrote notes and were in a delicious flutter of excitement. As Father, the Doctor, and the Professor were great cronies, I presume my teacher knew of the plan long before I did. Dr. Barnard was a man of perhaps thirty-five, though to me he then seemed much older. He was comparatively a newcomer in the town but, being a Mason, found favour in Father’s sight. A good man with whom to be associated, a student of human nature, kind, easy-going, with a keen sense of humour, he was wide-awake as a physician and, what is especially to the point, he did not take me too seriously, but wisely concealed from me that he did not. I think he cured me of some whims and susceptibilities; and I can see that he helped to develop my sense of humour and to counteract some of my strenuous, sentimental views of life. But it was done tactfully. He never shocked, though often surprised me. That memorable first day he talked to me about the study of medicine, about college life, its requirements, the difficulties to be encountered, and the courage necessary. All that I could hope to do while in school, he said, was to occupy the time I might otherwise spend in desultory reading, in studying advanced physiology and anatomy, thus making my first year in college easier. I could prepare my lessons and he would quiz me on Saturdays. So, in addition to my school work, I studied Gray’s Anatomy. He let me take home a box of bones, and I felt proud indeed to be learning about each little groove and facet and tuberosity. On Saturdays I recited and sometimes went with him into the country, often reading to him from books on _materia medica_ or on pathology as we drove lazily along. Occasionally he took me into the houses to see an interesting case, but as a rule I held the lines during his visits (and was always nervous till he was back in the buggy). Once I went with him when he reduced a fractured arm. I got angry at the rough, coarse-voiced woman who stood by ridiculing her husband for his groans and sighs; she called him a calf, and said he ought to have a few babies, then he _might_ make a fuss. The Doctor was much amused at my embarrassment.