First there was his assistant, and soon to be successor, to be taken care of. He was a clever, ambitious young fellow, who tried in every way possible to express his gratitude for their kindness to him. He was energetic and willing, but he lacked Conway’s kindly smile and friendly interest in all his patients. He could not understand them as Lester Conway did; and while the people of the neighborhood accepted his services, they plainly intimated that they only did so as a temporary accommodation to their beloved friend. So Conway had a great deal of riding around and explaining to do. “You will like him after a while,” he said to one of the dissatisfied ones. “You must give him time to get acquainted with you, that is all.” “But I don’t want him ter git erquainted with me, doc,” replied the injured one pathetically. “He’s er mighty good man, I dessay; but you’re plenty good enough fer us poor folks.” And he delivered his doubtful compliment with an air of perfect conviction. It did not matter to this man that he had not paid Conway a cent of money for years, and was not likely to for years to come, if he ever did. Doctor Conway was his family physician, and having elevated him to that pedestal in their esteem, they accepted the attendance and medicine necessary for their well-being as their right, and were generally ready to criticise him on every available occasion. Perhaps they considered this payment enough for the midnight study and patient care that Doctor Conway had so cheerfully given them. He went on explaining and smoothing over, however, with patient good nature, and shortly got them to understand that, as they could not get him any longer, they had better be content with the substitute provided for them. The time of his departure was drawing near now. The first of November had come, and that was to be his last month with them. He had packed up his most cherished possessions, ready for shipment. His young assistant had come in for many of the books needed to complete his little library, and many other of Conway’s friends had received from him tokens of his good will; and the doctor, having done everything necessary, was seriously debating the idea of departing at once for New York, where he could be near Norine. He was sitting in his easy-chair one evening, puffing great volumes of smoke from his pipe, when his assistant handed him a letter he had brought from the office. Conway took it carelessly and went on with his dreams. Of course he was thinking of Norine and their future--it seemed as if he had ever been thinking of her--and so he sat lazily back and watched the smoke as it floated in the air, thinking placidly of his great happiness, and what a fortunate fellow he was altogether. He still held the letter carelessly in his hand, but did not look at it until his pipe and the fire were both out. Then he rose with a shiver and glanced at it.