“Well, there, if that wasn't a bright trick uh mine? They say the more yuh hurry the less yuh'll git along, an' that's a sample. We'd ought t' have five kinds, an' about four uh each kind. It wouldn't do t' run out, er Mis' Beckman never would let anybody hear the last of it. Down t' Mary's--” “Twenty cakes! Good gracious! I'll have to order my stock of medicine, for I'll surely have a houseful of patients if the guests eat twenty cakes.” “Well, as the sayin' is: 'Patience an' perseverance can git away with most anything,'” observed the Countess, naively. The Little Doctor retired behind her handkerchief. “My stars alive, I do b'lieve my bread's beginnin' t' scorch!” cried the Countess, and ran to see. The Little Doctor followed her inside and sat down. “We must make a list of the things we'll need, Louise. You--” “Dell! Oh-h. Dell!” The voice of the Old Man resounded from the parlor. “I'm in the kitchen!” called she, remaining where she was. He tramped heavily through the house to her. “I'll send the rig in, t'morrow, if there's anything yuh want,” he remarked. “And if you'll make out a list uh dope, I'll send the order in t' the Falls. We've got plenty uh saws an' cold chisels down in the blacksmith shop--you can pick out what yuh want.” He dodged and grinned. “Got any cake, Countess?” “Well, there ain't a thing cooked, hardly. I'm going t' bake up something right after dinner. Here's some sponge cake--but it ain't fit t' eat, hardly. I let Dell look in the oven, 'cause my han's was all over flour, an' she slammed the door an' it fell. But yuh can't expect one person t' know everything--an' too many han's can't make decent soup, as the sayin' is, an' it's the same way with cake.” The Old Man winked at the Little Doctor over a great wedge of feathery delight. “I don't see nothing the matter with this--only it goes down too easy,” he assured the Countess between mouthfuls. “Fix up your list, Dell, and don't be afraid t' order everything yuh need. I'll foot the--” The Old Man, thinking to go back to his work, stepped into the puddle of soft soap and sat emphatically down upon the top step, coasting rapidly to the bottom. A carpet slipper shot through the open door and landed in the dishpan; the other slipper disappeared mysteriously. The wedge of cake was immediately pounced upon by an investigative hen and carried in triumph to her brood. “Good Lord!” J. G. struggled painfully to his feet. “Dell, who in thunder put that stuff there? You're a little too doggoned anxious for somebody t' practice on, seems t' me.” A tiny trickle of blood showed in the thin spot on his head. “Are you hurt, J. G.? We--I spilled the soap.” The Little Doctor gazed solicitous, from the doorway.