"You'd better fix that harness yourself, my friend, and fix it strong," was the doctor's parting injunction as he climbed into the buggy and started on. "I don't like the looks of this slough of despond," said Mary. The next minute the horses were floundering through it, tugging with might and main. Now the wheels have sunk to the hubs and the horses are straining every muscle. "Merciful heaven!" gasped Mary. At last they were safely through, and the doctor looking back said, "That is the last great blot on our civilization--bad roads." After a while there came from across the prairie the ascending, interrogative _boo-oo-m_ of a prairie chicken not far distant, while from far away came the faint notes of another. And now a different note, soft, melodious and mournful is heard. "How far away do you think that dove is?" asked the doctor. "It sounds as if it might be half a mile." "It is right up here in this tree in the field." "Is it," said Mary, looking up. "Yes, I see, it's as pretty and soft as its voice. But I'm getting sunburned, John. How hot a March day can get!" "Only two more miles and good road all the way." A few minutes more and Mary was set down at Centerville, "I'll be back about sunset," announced her husband as he drove off. A very pleasant-faced woman answered the knock at the door. She had a shingle in her hand and several long strips of muslin over her arm. She smilingly explained that she didn't often meet people at the door with a shingle but that she was standing near the door when the knock came. Mary, standing by the bed and removing hat and gloves, looked about her. "What are you doing with that shingle and all this cotton and stuff, Mrs. Parkin?" she asked. "Haven't you ever made a splint?" "A splint? No indeed, I'm not equal to that." "That's what I'm doing now. There's a boy with a broken arm in the office in the next room." "Oh, your husband has his office here at the house." "Yes, and it's a nuisance sometimes, too, but one gets used to it." "I'll watch you and learn something new about the work of a doctor's wife." "You'll learn then to have a lot of pillow slips and sheets on hand. Old or new, Dr. Parkin just tears them up when he gets in a hurry--it doesn't matter to him what goes." The doctor's wife put cotton over the whole length of the shingle and wound the strips of muslin around it; then taking a needle and thread she stitched it securely. Mary sat in her chair watching the process with much interest. "You have made it thicker in some places than in others," she said. "Yes; that is to fit the inequalities of the arm." Mary looked at her admiringly. "You are something of an artist," she observed. Just as Mrs. Parkin finished it her husband appeared in the doorway. "Is it done?" he asked. "It's just finished." "May I see you put it on, Doctor?" asked Mary, rising and coming forward.