"Oh, my dear woman, don't thank me for coming," the doctor said, laughing, when in broken phrases she tried to tell him what she felt. "Never did a man come more against his will than I. But I had no choice in the matter when that big giant got hold of me. He coaxed me at first"--laughing at the recollection--"then tried to bribe me--I forget what fabulous sum he offered me--half of his kingdom, I think. I mind he asked me if money were any use to me, but I stuck it out that I wouldn't come until he said he'd break every bone in my body, or words to that effect. So, my dear lady, your good man deserves all the credit--he simply bundled me up and brought me. I believe he swore at me, but I'm not sure." Mrs. Cavers stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Say, Clay," the doctor went on gaily, "there was a glint in that man's eye last night that made me decide to risk the storm, though I'm not fond of a blizzard. I believe he would have struck me. Where is he now? I like him. I want to shake hands with him." Mrs. Cavers sank on the lounge, white and trembling. Dr. Clay saw the mistake the other man was making and hastened to set him right. "Do you mean to tell me, Clay, that that man who brought me here is not the little girl's father? Well, then, who in the world is he?" "His name is Sandy Braden," Dr. Clay replied, "and he is--just a neighbour." "Well, then," the doctor cried in astonishment, "let me tell you, madam"--turning to Mrs. Cavers--"you have one good neighbour." Much to the doctor's surprise, Mrs. Cavers buried her face in her hands, while her shoulders shook with sobs. After a few minutes she raised her head, and looking the doctor in the face, said brokenly: "Doctor MacTavish, you are right about that, but I have not only one good neighbour; I have many." Then she stood up and laid her hand on the young doctor's arm. "Dr. Clay," she said, "tell Sandy Braden I have only one word for him"--her eyes grew misty again, and her voice tremulous--"only one word, and that is, May God bless him--always." CHAPTER XXXIII THE CORRECTION LINE It's a purty good world, this is, old man, It's a purty good world this is; For all its follies and shows and lies, Its rainy weather, and cheeks likewise, And age, hard hearing, and rheumatiz; We're not a faultin' the Lord's own plan; All things jest At their best, It's a puny good world, old man. _----James Whitcomb Riley._