At this Mattie disgraced herself and showed once more, as she said apologetically, what an idiot she was by bursting into senseless, hysteric tears and having to be carried off in haste to the toilet-room to cold water and smelling salts. “I’ve felt all squimbly this whole afternoon,” she explained, blowing her nose. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. Old fool, I guess.” “Well, it almost makes me feel like crying myself,” said Eva, holding out a glass of water to her. “It’s come so soon, so much sooner than I dared to hope. And it will mean so much to Lester and the children. They’d never have had a college education any other way. Why, Mattie, I’ve kept thinking all day about the hymn, ‘God moves in a mysterious way, His....’” “_Don’t!_” said Mattie huskily. “You’ll get me started again.” “Of course,” Eva said now, “it’s dreadfully hard for a mother to be separated from her....” Mattie broke in hastily, as if to change the subject, “Eva, how is that eczema of yours lately?” Mrs. Knapp rolled up a fashionably wide sleeve and showed a clean, white upper arm. “Dr. Merritt finally found a cure,” she said, “a new kind of ointment he heard about in a medical convention. It’s worked like a charm. I haven’t had a touch of eczema--why, in I don’t know when! It took the doctor long enough to get around to it, but he finally did.” * * * * * It was half-past five when Mrs. Farnham left the store, but still she did not start home. “_Let_ them wait for supper!” she thought, desperately. What was supper compared to some other things! She hurried heavily along towards Dr. Merritt’s house, hoping to goodness he would be in. He was, sitting on the porch, reading the evening paper. “Hello, Mrs. Farnham,” he said, surprised to see her. “I didn’t think I’d ever get any business out of _your_ family. Who’s broken a leg?” “We’re all right,” she told him. “I wanted to ask you about the Knapps. You know I’m sort of related to Mr. Knapp. I’ve been wondering what you really thought about him ... whether he’ll ever be cured, I mean.” The doctor noticed that her voice trembled as she spoke. What a good-natured creature she was, taking other people’s troubles so to heart. He hesitated. It was not at all his habit to talk about his patients to outsiders, least of all to any such chatter-box as Mrs. Farnham. But he had thought several times lately that, if Lester Knapp were to make any progress, he would need to start a campaign to dry up the gushing spring of family sympathy. He knew all about that sort of campaign from much experience, but he was never resigned to the necessity for it. “Darn families and their sympathy!” he often said impatiently. “They ‘poor-Charlie’ and ‘poor-Mary’ more sick people into their graves than we doctors do.”