“Of me?” exclaimed Norine, raising her eyebrows in astonishment. “Why are you afraid of me?” Mrs. Higgins snorted expressively and looked at Conway, who had been leaning easily against the door, an amused listener. Love is sharp-sighted, for all its proverbial blindness, and Conway understood the old woman’s meaning at once. He passed his hand slowly over his head and sighed softly. Norine, however, was greatly mystified and stared from one to the other in amazement. “I cannot understand you at all,” she cried pettishly. “How can this poor man harm us any? I’m sure I feel very sorry for him.” “So do I,” interposed the doctor hastily. “He is very ill, and I am glad he is getting such good care. Whether he deserves it or not, Mrs. Higgins has taken a dislike to him, that is all.” “Well, she ought to be ashamed of it,” said Norine indignantly. “The poor man deserves our sympathy, at least.” “Thet’s all right, an’ I don’t deny hit,” replied the old woman. “I hain’t got nothin’ ag’in him; he ain’t a-goin’ to hurt _me_ enny. ’Tain’t likely he’ll hurt enny one, less’n hit’s you!” and Mrs. Higgins bounced out of the room indignantly. Norine blushed hotly, and cried: “What nonsense!” But still she seemed loath to meet the doctor’s eye. So, after giving the directions that had originally brought him to the kitchen, Conway took his departure. CHAPTER VI. CLINTON’S STORY. The days went on quietly at Bright Farm, and the stranger improved rapidly in health. Doctor Conway continued his daily visits at the farm, but his patient occupied but little of his time. He could do nothing more, the doctor said. It only remained to build up the wasted strength by careful diet, and nature would do the rest. Conway did not believe in dosing at any time, being a firm advocate of the old maxim, “Throw physic to the dogs.” The doctor had remembered his patient’s impatient demand for removal, and as soon as he dared had informed that gentleman that he might change his quarters at any time, taking the chance to inform him further that there existed excellent accommodations at the village hotel. In fact, the good doctor had even gone beyond that, for he had placed the little rough pony and springy carryall at his patient’s service for the aforesaid purpose of removal. And when we consider that there was even less good-will existing between the two than there had been at first, we must admit the doctor’s disinterestedness--a disinterestedness, however, that was doomed to go unrewarded. It was not accepted in the right spirit, the doctor thought; for the patient, preferring the good he had to the possible ills awaiting him, declined to move, and remained in his cozy little room at the cottage, and improved in health at a great rate. And so the second week had gone by, and Clinton had improved so much that he could even sit up for a short space of time in the big easy-chair by the fire.