"At the office." Her eyes danced with delight. She would have begun, then and there, to tell him all that had happened,--"had taken care of herself all along," she said, "until they began to move. In moving, had been _obliged_ to overwork--hardly _fixed_ yet"-- But the Doctor gently checked her and bade her be quiet. "I will," was the faint reply; "I will; but--just one thing, Doctor, please let me say." "Well?" "John"-- "Yes, yes; I know; he'd be here, only you wouldn't let him stay away from his work." She smiled assent, and he smiled in return. "'Business is business,'" he said. She turned a quick, sparkling glance of affirmation, as if she had lately had some trouble to maintain that ancient truism. She was going to speak again, but the Doctor waved his hand downward soothingly toward the restless form and uplifted eyes. "All right," she whispered, and closed them. The next day she was worse. The physician found himself, to use his words, "only the tardy attendant of offended nature." When he dropped his finger-ends gently upon her temple she tremblingly grasped his hand. "You'll save me?" she whispered. "Yes," he replied; "we'll do that--the Lord helping us." A glad light shone from her face as he uttered the latter clause. Whereat he made haste to add:-- "I don't pray, but I'm sure you do." She silently pressed the hand she still held. On Sunday he found Richling at the bedside. Mary had improved considerably in two or three days. She lay quite still as they talked, only shifting her glance softly from one to the other as one and then the other spoke. The Doctor heard with interest Richling's full account of all that had occurred since he had met them last together. Mary's eyes filled with merriment when John told the droller part of their experiences in the hard quarters from which they had only lately removed. But the Doctor did not so much as smile. Richling finished, and the physician was silent. "Oh, we're getting along," said Richling, stroking the small, weak hand that lay near him on the coverlet. But still the Doctor kept silence. "Of course," said Richling, very quietly, looking at his wife, "we mustn't be surprised at a backset now and then. But we're getting on." Mary turned her eyes toward the Doctor. Was he not going to assent at all? She seemed about to speak. He bent his ear, and she said, with a quiet smile:-- "'When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.'" The physician gave only a heavy-eyed "Humph!" and a faint look of amusement. "What did she say?" said Richling; the words had escaped his ear. The Doctor repeated it, and Richling, too, smiled. Yet it was a good speech,--why not? But the patient also smiled, and turned her eyes toward the wall with a disconcerted look, as if the smile might end in tears. For herein lay the very difficulty that always brought the Doctor's carriage to the door,--the cradle would not rock.