Mrs. Slawson nodded. "Certaintly, again. But you don’t think—that is, you ain’t in doubt about the ol’ lady, are you? I’d hate to think she might have somethin’ I ain’t used to. I kinda got accustomed to _strokes_ now, so’s if she’d have any more, I’d know just how to take a-holt, but if she set about gettin’ up somethin’ _new_, it’d sorta rattle me, maybe. You never can tell." "No, that’s it! You never can tell. _I_ can’t tell." "It ain’t as if she didn’t have a sympton to show you," pleaded Martha, "so’s you’d be workin’ in the dark. When ladies is that way, the doctors says to’mselves: ’Her color’s good, an’ her pulse is strong, which proves she’s far from a well woman. While I’m waitin’ for somethin’ to happen, I’ll remove her appendicitis.’ Folks has such funny furbelows inside’m nowadays, I don’t wonder the doctors is puzzled. What’s the use o’ adenoids now, an’ appendicitises, I should like to know, if it’s only to go to the trouble an’ expense of havin’ ’m cut out?" "Quite so," acquiesced Dr. Ballard gravely. "No, I’m not anxious about Madam Crewe’s appendix. I’m anxious about her—granddaughter." "Oh!" said Martha. "It’s _her_ you want to remove." Dr. Ballard flushed. "Yes, Mrs. Slawson. That is—I wish to marry Miss Crewe. You already know of Madam’s opposition. I don’t mind that—any more. But something has happened—I don’t know what—to change Miss Crewe, herself. I would never ask her to desert her grandmother. In fact, I would not respect her if she did desert her, leave her alone in her infirmity and old age. But I don’t want her mind to be embittered. She is not happy. I wish you’d look after her—lend her a helping hand, once in a while. Lend her a helping _heart_." "I’ll do my best," promised Martha solemnly. "I’ve grown attached to this place. I’d like to hear about—everybody, once in a while. I’d like, so to speak, to keep my finger on the pulse of the public." Martha looked up perplexed. "The pulse o’ the public? I don’t know as I exackly _get_ what you mean. But, if you want to feel the pulse o’ the public, why—_you’re_ the doctor! Anyhow, I’ll let you know how things is goin’, if you’ll excuse the liberty, and won’t mind my spellin’, which Sam says it’s fierce." "I’ll deeply appreciate any line you may take the trouble to write me," Dr. Ballard assured her, with hearty sincerity. It was September before Mrs. Slawson was actually settled at home again. The nurses, over at the big house, were altogether capable and trustworthy, but even after all need of her had passed, Mr. Ronald liked to feel Martha was within call. He fancied his wife felt more content when she was by, and, certainly, the baby slept better on her ample bosom than anywhere else. It was a tiny creature, very delicate and fragile, a mere scrap of humanity that Martha could hold in the hollow of her hand.