Then there is a canary that sings all the time, and a small dog--oh, such a low-down, ill-bred, tousled dog; kind of a dog that might have been raised around a lumber-yard--was, probably--one ear gone, half of his tail missing; and there are some pots of flowers, and on the wall near the window where everybody can see is a case of butterflies impaled on pins and covered by a glass. No, you wouldn't think the Doctor's office a grewsome place, and you certainly wouldn't think the Doctor was a grewsome person--not when you come to know him. If you met him out on Sunday afternoon in his black clothes, white neck-cloth, and well-brushed hat, his gray hair straggling over his coat-collar, pounding his cane on the pavement as he walked, you would say he had a Sunday-school class somewhere. If you should come upon him suddenly, seated before his fire, his gold spectacles clinging to his finely chiselled nose, his thoughtful face bending over his book, you would conclude that you had interrupted some savant, and bow yourself out. But you must ring his bell at night--say two o'clock A.M.; catch his cheery voice calling through the tube from his bedroom in the rear--"Yes; coming right away--be there soon as I get my clothes on"--feel the strength and sympathy and readiness to help in the man, and try to keep step with him as he hurries on, and then watch him when he enters the sick-room, diffusing hope and cheer and confidence, and listen to the soft, soothing tones of his voice, before you really get at the inside lining of "Doc" Shipman. All this brings me to the story. Of course, I could have told you the bare facts without giving you an idea of the man and his surroundings, but that wouldn't be fair to you, for you would have missed knowing the Doctor, and I the opportunity of introducing him to you. We were sitting in the old-fashioned office, then, one snowy night in January, the Doctor leaning back in his chair, his meerschaum pipe in his mouth--the one with the gold cap that a long-ago patient gave him--when he straightened his back and tugged at his fob, bringing to the surface a small gold watch--one I had not seen before. "Where's the silver one?" I asked, referring to an old silver-backed watch I had seen him wear. The Doctor looked up and smiled. "That's in the drawer. I don't wear it any more--not since I got this one back." "What happened? Was it broken?" "No, stolen." "When?" "Oh, some time ago. Help yourself to a cigar and I'll tell you about it. "One night last summer I came in late, took off my coat and vest, hung them on a chair by the window and went to bed, leaving the sashes ajar, for it was terribly hot and I wanted a draught of air through from my bedroom."