It was to him that Emma beckoned. He entered the house in response, with an air of great importance. He had been telling half the town by twos and threes, and as a great favour, exactly what he had said to Dr. Brent. The town listened in the hope of hearing what Dr. Brent had said to him. Emma motioned him to stand close to her. “When do you pay?” said she. “’Most any time,” said Jerry. “You can pay the first day for a whole set of visits, or you can pay when he sends a bill, or ’most anyway.” “How can I tell how often he’s comin’?” “He ain’t let pass that he’s comin’ more than this once, but you’ll have to go high for this once. Think of the fares here and back; the car money alone is twenty-five dollars, and not countin’ chair-cars or meals.” “Well, I’ll give him a hundred, and see how he likes that.” “All right,” said Jerry; “you give it to him now. He’d be more likely to come later, if he knew we pay before he can put hat on to go home.” She had planned it all; the money should be put in his hand just as he was leaving. She thought of no receipt, just as she thought of none for the money she put in the plate on those delightful courtship Sundays. Indeed, she felt the transactions to be similar. She wanted to show, just as she had shown then, that though Jarlsen was her man, he was no pauper. The bill was to be paid in the sight of the surrounding multitude at the windows. Presently Dr. Brent came out. He looked at the faces set in the window frames, and made no comment. Emma realized, with hope full grown to thankfulness, that had he felt there was nothing encouraging to say, he would have dispersed the waiting men and women before he spoke. “Miss Butte,” he said, “I’ve seen worse than he recover. His sight is gone, sealed up with scorch; but he’ll hear again some day. Get him up as soon as the smart goes.” Some one in the window said, “He’ll make wages dead easy if he hears again.” “I’m glad,” said Dr. Brent, turning toward the window. “Encourage him to work when the smart is over.” He declined Emma’s offered meal, and prepared for departure, writing on a bit of paper what he wished to have done for Jarlsen. When he rose, hat in hand, Emma spoke to him. Her voice had a thrill of pride in it, and her high spirit lent a dignity to the gaudy finery intended to decorate her awkward frock. “Doctor,” she said, “will you set a minute?” She entered the lean-to, erect and elastic. Three minutes passed while the crowd asked the doctor questions, which he answered in words of such strangeness to their ears that they enjoyed all the sensations of those who communicate with spirits. They laughed at his least word, and he, perceiving it, darkened his sayings the further.