"Yes," said the doctor, calmly, "that is a thing a man may well be frightened about. But listen to me, Blake. You've not got tuberculosis of the larynx." "Do you think a great physician like Dr. Wentworth doesn't know what he is talking about?" "Dr. Wentworth is a great physician; I know him well. But he is only a man like the rest of us and therefore liable to err in judgment sometimes. He knew you half an hour, perhaps, before he pronounced upon your case. I have known you and watched you for fifteen years. I say you have not got tuberculosis _and I know I am right_." Mary saw Mr. Blake grasp her husband's hand with a look in his face that made her think within herself, "Blessings on the country doctor wherever he may be, who has experience and knowledge and wisdom enough to draw just and true conclusions of his own and bravely state them when occasion demands." When the patient had gone Mary said to her husband, "One gets a kaleidoscopic view of life in a doctor's office. What comes through the ear at home comes before the eye here. The kaleidoscope turned a bright-colored bit into the place of a dark one this time, John. I am glad I was here to see." As she spoke footsteps were heard on the stairs. Slow and feeble steps they were, but at last they reached the landing and paused at the open door. Looking out Mary saw a poorly clad woman perhaps forty years of age, carrying in her hands a speckled hen. She was pale and trembling violently, and sank down exhausted into the chair the doctor set for her. He took the hen from her hands and set it on the floor. Its feet were securely tied and it made no effort to escape. The doctor had never seen the woman before but noting the emaciated form and the hectic flush on the cheek he saw that consumption was fast doing its work. Mary took the palm leaf fan lying on the table and stood beside her, fanning her gently. When the woman could speak she said, "I oughtn't to 'a' tried to walk, Doctor, but there didn't seem to be anyone passin' an' this cough is killin' me. I want something for it." "How far did you walk?" asked Mary, kindly. "Four mile." "Four miles!" she looked down at the trembling form with deep pity in her brown eyes. "I didn't have any money, Doctor, but will the hen pay for the medicine?" her eyes were raised anxiously to his face and Mary's eyes met the look in the eyes of her husband. "I don't want the hen. We haven't any place to keep her. Besides my wife, here, is afraid of hens." A little smile flitted across the wan face. He told her how to take the medicine and then said, "Whenever you need any more let me know and I'll send it to you. You needn't worry about the pay." "I'm very much obleeged to you, Doctor." "Just take the hen back home with you." "I wonder if I couldn't sell her at the store," she said, looking at the doctor with a bright, expectant face.