Grace did not reply. As she stood smoothing the head of the little girl, who had followed her to the door, and now leaned against her, hiding her tearful face in Grace’s dress, she said, “I don’t know of any homœopathic physician in this neighborhood. I don’t believe there’s one nearer than Boston, and I should make myself ridiculous in calling one so far for a consultation. But I’m quite willing you should call one, and I will send for you at once.” “And wouldn’t you consult with him, after he came?” “Certainly not. It would be absurd.” “I shouldn’t like to have a doctor come all the way from Boston,” mused Mrs. Maynard, sinking on the lounge again. “There _must_ be a doctor in the neighborhood. It can’t be so healthy as _that!_” “There’s an allopathic physician at Corbitant,” said Grace passively. “A very good one, I believe,” she added. “Oh, _well_, then!” cried Mrs. Maynard, with immense relief. “Consult with _him!_” “I’ve told you, Louise, that I would not consult with anybody. And I certainly wouldn’t consult with a physician whose ideas and principles I knew nothing about.” “Why but, Grace,” Mrs. Maynard expostulated. “Isn’t that rather prejudiced?” She began to take an impartial interest in Grace’s position, and fell into an argumentative tone. “If two heads are better than one,—and everybody says they are,—I don’t see how you can consistently refuse to talk with another physician.” “I can’t explain to you, Louise,” said Grace. “But you can call Dr. Mulbridge, if you wish. That will be the right way for you to do, if you have lost confidence in me.”