Christian life -- Fiction; Frontier and pioneer life -- Ohio -- Fiction; Physicians -- Fiction
Zeb had a bright fire blazing, and on his master's entrance hastily
lighted a candle and set it on the table.
"Ah, this looks comfortable," said Kenneth, shaking off the icicles
and drawing near the fire. "Hurry, Zeb, and attend to Romeo. But
first, has any one called?"
"Yes, sah; de major lef' word you please step roun' dar; one ob de
chillen sick."
"Much the matter, Zeb?"
"Dunno, massa doctah; 'spec' you kin tell best 'bout dat when you
gets dar; yah, yah," and Zeb vanished.
I think Kenneth sighed a little inwardly, and cast a somewhat
regretful look upon the comforts he was leaving behind, as he made
ready again to face the storm, donning a fur cap and a camelot cloak
which he took down from a nail in the wall.
As he threw it off in the hall at Major Lamar's, the parlor door
opened and a sweet voice said, "Come in, doctor. It was really
almost too bad to ask you to come through this storm, and I think my
brother regrets having done so; for little Bertie does not seem to be
seriously ill now, though some hours ago he had quite a fever."
"Ah, I am glad to hear so good a report," Kenneth said, taking the
soft white hand held out to him, and smiling down into the violet
eyes. "But what sort of doctor should you think me if I were afraid
to face wind, rain and sleet at the call of sickness?"
"Come to the fire and warm your hands," she said lightly, ignoring
his query; "they are much too cold for the handling of my pet boy."
"You are right," he returned, holding them over the blaze.
They stood there side by side for several minutes, chatting on
indifferent topics, the weather, the state of the roads, cases of
sickness in the town.
He thought he had never seen her look so lovely, the beautiful,
abundant hair gleaming like gold in the glancing firelight, the
full, red lips, the large liquid eyes, so intensely blue, that now
looked half shyly into his, now drooped till the heavy silken fringes
swept the fair cheek whereon the soft color came and went with every
breath.
Her dress was simple, but extremely becoming, plain gray in color,
made with a long full skirt that fell in soft folds about her
graceful figure, and neatly-fitting bodice, edged at neck and wrists
with ruffles of delicate lace.
Her only ornaments were a knot of pale blue ribbon in her hair and
another at her throat.
She was in one of her gentlest, most lovable moods, and he could
scarce control the impulse to catch her in his arms, hold her to his
heart, and cover the sweet face with kisses.
But he must not, he dare not, and at that instant the door opened and
the major came in, carrying the sick child, and followed by his wife.
"Ah, doctor, glad to see you; though, since this little chap has
suddenly changed so much for the better, I'm more than half ashamed
of having called you out in such weather."
"No matter for that, major, it is no new thing for me to face a
storm," returned Kenneth, shaking hands with Mrs. Lamar, then turning
to examine his little patient.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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