“No--not business exactly,” replied the girl, with a troubled look. “The fact is, doctor,” she said frankly, after a moment’s hesitation, “we have written to our Aunt Darling--she must be so lonesome now in her old age, and we thought--Jim and I--that it was time that ridiculous family quarrel came to an end. She is our aunt, you know,” she added, apologetically, “even if she did treat father shamefully.” “And you have invited her up here, I suppose, with the intention of paying her for her past neglect by taking care of her for the rest of her life?” “Yes,” answered Norine simply. “If she will come.” “Well, then,” cried the doctor impatiently, “I hope she won’t come. She doesn’t deserve such treatment, I’m sure.” “No,” said Norine demurely, “I suppose not. If she were only an object for practice now?” “Ah! Miss Norine,” laughed her friend, “you should know by this time that a doctor never takes his own medicine--always remember that. And now I must get on there before they have another accident,” and with a merry nod, he struck through the woods and soon disappeared. Norine stood leaning over the gate, in the bright sunshine, until the doctor passed out of sight. Then she entered the house and set about preparing a basket with such delicacies as the humble place afforded. After fixing this to her satisfaction, she flitted around from one household duty to another, like the busiest of busy bees, or more like a sensible, modern everyday household fairy. “There!” she exclaimed ruefully, “if it ain’t just provoking! Not a thing in the house to eat, and the doctor coming to dinner,” and she gave a little sigh of vexation. “I suppose I _could_ kill a chicken,” she mused, “but I hate to. I guess I’d better take that basket over first. Perhaps I can get one of the boys to come over and do it for me.” Getting a shawl and pinning it closely around her, she put on her hat and was ready to start. It was not necessary to lock the doors of the little cottage; she simply closed them against the predatory instincts of the chickens, and taking the basket, she started on a rapid walk through the woods. It was not at all pleasant walking after the storm of last night, but her feet were well protected from the wet, and her plain calico dress was not likely to be injured any by it. So she went rapidly along, only stopping occasionally to pluck an early blossom, or one of the younger and more feathery of the ferns. She had accomplished rather more than one-half her journey, when she came to a deserted cabin--deserted, by the way, by these same Higginses who were so generally ill. It stood in a little clearing--some two or three acres, perhaps--that at one time had been a garden, but was now overgrown with weeds, and the very picture of desolation.