“Yes, he is going to visit Mr. Barstow, who is an old friend, and as he is to be the bearer of the violin, Mr. Barstow insists upon paying all his expenses, and I am to take the church music while he is away, which will be only over one Sunday.” “Isn’t that just like Sophy to make a mountain out of a mole-hill? She reminds me of those scientists to whom you give a bone and they will construct a mastodon. I can’t help going back to that check, Ellen. You are sure it isn’t too much? I’d hate to have you accept more than the thing is worth. It seems a monstrous price to pay for a violin.” “It is a very fine one, and Mr. Todd says it is really worth more, so does Mr. Marshall say so in his note.” “You didn’t bring the note for me to see. Why not?” “Oh, I was in a hurry and it didn’t seem worth while,” Ellen answered casually, wondering just why she didn’t want her cousin to see it. “The check was the main thing. I am sure it will pay your hospital expenses.” “But not the doctor.” “Perhaps not, but I have another scheme for that.” “What is it?” “Sha’n’t tell you till I see how it is going to work out.” Miss Rindy drew the girl’s head down as she rose to go. “You are a good child, Ellen,” she whispered, “and I am thankful you are here instead of scrubbing down the back stairs of some Home.” “So am I,” Ellen whispered back. Then the doctor and the nurse appeared, and in a few minutes Ellen was on her way back to town. During these daily trips back and forth to the hospital she had many confidential talks with the doctor, who was always friendliness itself, and one day came an opportunity to lay before him the scheme of which she had spoken to Miss Rindy. It was when he spoke of the pressure of his work, and of how difficult he found it to get time for correspondence and the making out of bills. “I don’t see why I couldn’t do some of that,” Ellen spoke up. “If you would let me pay our bill that way, I’d be very grateful, Doctor.” “What bill?” “Your bill for attending Cousin Rindy. You go to see her every day.” “I visit the hospital every day, and it is a pity if I am not allowed to drop in for a few minutes to see an old friend. There isn’t going to be any bill sent to Rindy Crump from my office. She can pay the hospital charges, or, rather, you can, but that’s all.” “You know perfectly well she will never consent to that. She is a great stickler for paying what she owes, and she will be perfectly miserable if you don’t send her a bill.” The doctor laughed. “I wish all my patients would have a touch of that kind of misery. My soul! Why wasn’t Rindy’s father a doctor so she could claim professional services as her right?” “But he wasn’t, and she can’t.” “I suppose you’d call that a laconic fact. I reckon I can be as stiff as she can, and I tell you there isn’t going to be any bill from me.” “Very well, we won’t call it a bill, but just an exchange of courtesies. You work for us; I work for you. When shall I begin?”