More of such talk followed--I hardly knew whether to be angry or amused--the conceited, unfeeling old wretch was apparently making a tentative proposal to me there in his home, his wife within a few days of her death! (I learned some weeks afterward that he had for some time previous been in the habit of stopping at a neighbour’s and talking excitedly about the “little Doctor”; wondering what her practice amounted to, and whether she would want to give it up, if she married, or keep on with it.) “What’s the damage?” he asked, as we were driving home; and when I named the charge for the visit, he sighed as, slowly drawing out his wallet, he said regretfully: “That’s just what I got for the last calf I sold.” I don’t recall much about him after that, except that he dropped into the office a few times for prescriptions for himself, and once brought me some fruit and some Christmas greens; but if he pushed his hints further, I have forgotten about it. It was during my years in U---- that Sister’s marriage took place; that Grandma died; and that Kate’s first baby was born--events of great moment to me. I recall the feeling of sadness and irrevocability that night as the train bore Sister away on her honeymoon. It was harder, though, to see her leave, a year later, after a summer spent at home, for she was then about to become a mother, and was going so far away; but, well and happy, she was full of plans for getting settled in her new home, and her chief regret was Grandma’s approaching death with the certainty that she could never see her baby.