Martha rinsed off her soapy wrists with soapier hands in a gesture, as of one preparing for the fray. "Now, what do you think o’ that!" she observed calmly. "The size of her! No bigger than a minute, an’ gettin’ the best of a able-bodied pair, like you an’ that fine-appearin’ young gen’lman upstairs. Don’t it beat all?" Katherine did not stop long enough to admit that it did, but hurried on ahead, leaving Mrs. Slawson to follow closely in the rear, pausing outside the sick-chamber door, where the doctor stood like a sentinel on guard. Martha passed them both without a word, entered the room, and made directly for the bed. She slid a gentle arm beneath the narrow old shoulders, drew out the pillow, and replaced it, shaken into more comfortable shape. "There! That’s a whole lot better, ain’t it?" she inquired amiably. No answer. The old woman glared up at her hostilely, but it was noticeable that the worst fire had been drawn from the angry eyes. Martha picked a thread from the carpet, and, winding it neatly about her forefinger, put the tiny coil into her apron pocket. Presently she plunged an exploring hand beneath the bed-covering. "Say, them hot-water bags ain’t been a mite o’ good to you. Your feet’s like two lumps o’ ice. They extend clear up to your knees. Did the doctor know, before he went, you had cold feet like that?" No answer. "He can’t be much of a doctor, an’ no mistake, to go off, an’ leave a patient with such a chill on ’er, so even arthurficial heat couldn’t get in its fine work. I’m surprised! My husband was the one brought’m here, I must confess. He couldn’t do no better, I guess. Dr. Driggs wasn’t home, an’ poor Sam took what he could get. When nothin’s left, the king can’t choose. But wouldn’t you think any fella that called himself a doctor would know enough not to leave a lady, so the ones about her wouldn’t know how to handle her case, an’ she’d get worse by the minute, so to speak, for want of a stitch in time, that’d save her nine—meanin’ doctors from the city, per’aps, an’ trained nurses, night _an’_ day, so the expense alone would kill her, not to mention other complercations. _I_ call it a shame!" It was not impossible for a shrewd observer to follow the mental processes of the active old brain, for they were clearly enough revealed in the passionate, too-expressive eyes. Mrs. Slawson, appearing to notice nothing, bided her time, while, little by little, her "ol’ lady" betrayed herself, in all her mean guises of misanthropic distrust, growing self-doubt, and, last—overwhelming all—susceptibility to the suggestion of fear, response to the stimulus of—_money_. "Call—that—man!" The words were rapped out with the brevity and precision of a military command. "Eh?" said Martha, appearing to rouse from a spell of complete inattention. "Call—that—doctor!" Mrs. Slawson moved her massive frame slowly in the direction of the door.