“Poor thing!” remarked one of the ladies. “But what a very sweet face she has, and such a dear, pleasant way of laughing! You must find her quite a treasure.” “Yes, indeed,” said another. “Girls will be girls. Mine are all so fond of Effie.” The doctor seemed to find it difficult to reproduce the subject of Zeb Fuller’s enormity, but that was nothing to the effort it cost his wife to smile and look sweet while her visitors were praising her stepdaughter. It is to be feared that Effie’s tea-time was a troubled one, but there were reasons why she was in no danger of unendurable severity just then, if she was as yet “under age” and capable of seeing the funny side of things. After tea, the doctor had a brief call to make at Deacon Fuller’s, from which he returned with a serene assurance that the young assailant of his dignity was not to escape without just and ample retribution, for he had seen, with his own eyes, the stern and exemplary father proceeding to the orchard for the necessary appliances. “That will do,” muttered the doctor, as he turned his steps once more homeward, “only I think hickory would be better in a case of this magnitude.” What would have been his feelings if he had witnessed the ignominious after-fate of even the “sprouts” he deemed so inadequate to the occasion? But, then, Zeb Fuller was just as well satisfied. CHAPTER VI BARNABY CALLS ON THE DOCTOR Bar Vernon was particularly anxious not to miss the doctor that next morning, if only because the precious wallet was becoming such a dreadful burden to carry. “I wouldn’t sleep with that thing another night,” he said to himself, “not for the whole hotel,”--forgetting how very little slumbering he had really managed to do. His anxiety, however, led him into a very judicious piece of extravagance. He could not think of either losing time or exposing himself to any perils by the way; and so he called the first good-looking “hack” carriage he saw empty after leaving the hotel, and was whirled up in front of Dr. Manning’s elegant “brown-stone front,” on one of the most fashionable up-town streets, in something like proper style. For all that, however, the dignified servant who answered Bar’s pull at the door-bell looked down a little loftily on so very young and healthy-looking a “patient.” “Dr. Manning does not wish to see any one this morning----” “Never mind that,” interrupted Bar. “He is waiting for me. Just give him my name.” “Card, sir?” “No card,” said Bar. “Just tell him my name is Wallet, that’s all.” The thoroughly mystified porter politely showed Bar into the doctor’s reception-room and stalked away to the library with his message. “Wallet? Wallet?” muttered the doctor, when he received it. “I don’t know any such man. Did he say what was the matter with him?” “Said as how you were waitin’ for him, sir.”