“Will they put the Bible out, too?” A voice spoke suddenly behind them. Turning, they saw that Doctor Franklin had come in through the front shop and was standing looking at them. He was a country doctor, loose-limbed, gaunt, and gray, and old--a man born in Hart’s Run, who had ridden all the roads about it from the old horseback days down to Ford-car times--a man who knew intimately all the physical ills and many of the mental and spiritual ones as well, in a radius of thirty miles--old Doc’ Franklin--old Doc’ Franklin. When people were born he was there, and when they died he was there, gaunt and quiet and natural, very deeply rooted, patient, and unshaken, whether he watched at the gates of birth or at the gates of death. They did not know how long he had been standing there. “Well, but look a-here, Doctor,” Mrs. Anderson protested. “Here’s Julie Rose settin’ there foolin’ over that nasty little cat, an’ not caring _one thing_ what folks thinks of her!” The doctor put out one long finger, and gently rubbed the kitten’s little mouse-colored head. Fed and reassured, it looked up at him now out of the blue loveliness of kitten-eyes, purring happily back and forth, blowing out that occasional, impudent, and care-free bubble. “Well, that’s sort of like me,” he said. “Other folks have time to calculate who can stay in the church, an’ who’s got to be put out--it’s all too mixed up for me to know. All I know is I’ve got some mighty sick patients up the Easter road, an’ I’ve got to dust out there an’ see ’em.” Julie looked up into the weather-beaten old face above her. “Look at the kitten’s paw,” she begged. “Is it broken?” He ran a thumb and forefinger lightly down the furry leg. “No, just a bruise,” he said. “No, little cat, you’re all right,” he added for the small patient’s benefit, giving another little tap on its head. “Julie, have you got any fly-netting? That’s what I stopped for when I saw your shop was open.” “How’s the flu, doctor?” Mrs. Anderson interposed. “Any fresh cases?” “Half a dozen, an’ not near enough people to nurse the sick ones,” he answered. “The Chapin family’s the worst. The father died last night and Mrs. Chapin and the boy are just as bad off as they can be--nobody in the house to help, an’ the neighbors not doin’ as much as they might on account of the boy’s record. Maybe I could get you to go out there and lend a hand for a day or so,” he said, looking at Mrs. Anderson. “Not me,” she retorted promptly. “I’m scared to death of the flu--I’d run a mile from it--an’ more’n that, I wouldn’t turn my hand over for that boy after the way he disgraced the whole county in camp.” Julie put the kitten down and stood up. “I’ll go with you right away, doctor,” she said. “I’ve got my things here in the suit-case, an’ I’ll get the fly-netting.” He looked at her. “It’s hard work, Julie,” he said. “You’ve never been very stout, you know. Do you reckon you can stand it?” “I can stand anything now,” she told him.