For more than a week my aunt was confined to her room, while the doctor came regularly, always staying a long time, and by his delicate attentions winning golden laurels from his patient, who was far better pleased with him than with the fussy old man, who, being always in a hurry, only stopped for a moment, while he looked at her _tongue_, felt her _pulse_, and recommended _blistering_ and _bleeding_, with a dose of _calomel_, neither of which Dr. Clayton believed to be a _saving ordinance_, and indispensable to the _comfort_ and recovery of his patients. By this, I do not mean anything derogatory to the good old custom of tormenting folks to death before their time, but having a faint remembrance of certain _blisters_, which, together with _cabbage leaves_ and the _tallowed rags_, once kept me in a state of torture for nearly a week, to say nothing of the _sore mouth_, the _loose teeth_, and the tightly-bandaged arm, I cannot help experiencing a kind of nervous tremor at the very mention of said prescriptions. Dr. Clayton’s attendance upon my aunt was a great benefit to him, as, through its means, he became known to several of the higher circle, who began to employ him, so that by the last of May, the time when I left Boston for Meadow Brook, he had quite a large practice. For some reason or other, Mrs. Archer, too, sent for him again; and as he had now no ten thousand dollars in prospect, he succeeded in pleasing the whimsical lady, thereby securing her patronage for a year at least. Here, for a time, I leave him, while I go back to the dear old home at Meadow Brook, over which a shadow, dark and heavy, was brooding. CHAPTER XV. THE OLD HOMESTEAD. “Meadow Brook Station! Stop five minutes for refreshments!” shouted the conductor, and alighting from the noisy, crowded cars, I stood once more in my own native town, gazing with a feeling of delight upon the sunny hills, dotted over with the old-fashioned gable-roofed houses, and upon the green, grassy meadow, through which rolled the blue waters of the Chicopee. I had not stood thus long, when a broad hand was laid upon my shoulder, and the next instant my arms were around the neck of my father, who, I thought, had changed much since last I saw him; for his face was thin and pale, while threads of silver were scattered through his soft, brown hair.