The doctor smiled blandly at the compliment here paid him. This old woman was a pauper patient. The doctor attended her by order of the relieving-officer of the ---- Union; the locality of which, it is enough for the reader to know, was on the south side of the metropolis. The doctor had been many years a parish surgeon; and at this time he was also the medical attendant at the workhouse of the union. He was accounted a successful man. He was in large practice, but his gains were not commensurate with the extent of his business; and owing to a somewhat large family, with expensive habits of his own and his wife's, he had not made, after all, very much way in the world. I think I may describe him as a poor doctor, although he lived in a big house and kept up a liberal establishment. Yes; I may call him poor. There were unmistakable, although negative, signs of comparative poverty. He kept no carriage, and had to trudge on foot from the beginning to the end of his daily rounds. He rarely indulged in the luxury of a cab, which, I take it, showed either an extreme prudence, not consistent with some other habits I have mentioned, or very straitened circumstances. "Yes, Goody, I hope I have been kind to you, and I will be kind, as I know a doctor ought to be to all his patients, but especially to all the poor and old ones." I ought to have mentioned, incidentally, that the doctor had obtained a reputation for his urbanity to all people, and his especial affection to the poor. "Doctor," she exclaimed; "ah, I have something on my mind. I don't think I have acted properly by you. Will you forgive me?" As she spoke these latter words her wretched crone-like features betrayed a ghastliness which appalled the surgeon, and he could scarcely, for several moments, answer her. "You will forgive me, doctor, won't you?" "Forgive you, Goody! What have I to forgive you?" "Oh, it was very wrong to deceive you." "But how have you deceived me?" "Oh, it was very wicked." "Why, what's the matter? What do you mean?" As the doctor uttered this last interrogation, in soothing accents, he drew a chair near to the old woman, and, in the extremeness of his urbanity, or with the desire of a confessor to lighten the load that weighed upon her conscience, as he so drew his chair by her side, he actually took her lean and withered hand in his. "Come, tell me all about it, Goody. In what way have you wronged me? In what deceived me? In what respect acted as a poor woman should not?" "Well, doctor," she stammered, in reply to this kind and confidential inquiry, "indeed I have a fortune." The doctor started. "Pray don't expose me. I shall die if I am found out. Kill me, doctor, if you won't forgive me." "A fortune! and you for so long have been living on charity; obtaining relief and medical attendance from the union! Oh, that is wicked indeed!"