“Yes, sir,” answered Tom, as he put on his overcoat, and with the bundle of books, which were quite heavy, he started off. He was soon in the Back Bay district, and a little inquiry enabled him to find the doctor’s house. “My, it’s a big place!” exclaimed Tom. “He must have money to live in a house like that.” He went up the front steps and rang the bell. The door was presently opened by a woman, and, in the light that streamed out into the darkness from the hall, Tom saw that she was about middle age, and that her features were rather sharp and hard. Her face was not made more attractive by the way her hair was arranged, for it was drawn tightly back on both sides of her head. “Well, what do you want?” she asked snappishly. “We don’t want to buy anything, and if you’re the boy from the grocery you’re too late with the stuff, and you must go round to the back door. I can’t have tradesmen coming to the front door.” “These are some books Dr. Spidderkins purchased to-day,” replied Tom. “I brought them, because the expressman forgot to call.” “What’s that? Books?” asked a voice from within, that the boy recognized as the doctor’s. “Who has books for me?” Tom caught a glimpse of the elderly gentleman. He was in his slippers and a dressing gown, and his arms were so full of books that he could not have carried another one. “They are books from Mr. Townsend,” said Tom. “Oh, yes. Come right in,” invited the doctor. “I was wondering why they didn’t arrive. Come right in with them, my boy. I want to look up something about a certain rare plant----” “He’ll do nothing of the kind!” interrupted the woman. “I guess I’m not going to have snow tracked into my house! Besides, you know you started to go to supper, and there you are puttering over those books. Oh, Lemuel, you’re so forgetful!” “So I am! So I am,” admitted the doctor in a queer sort of voice. “I remember now, I did start to go to supper. I knew it was something I ought to do. I’m glad you reminded me. I’ll eat at once,” and, placing the books he was holding on a chair in the hall, the old gentleman turned back. “Leave the books here,” said the woman to Tom. “Are there any charges?” “No; everything is paid.” “All right,” and she abruptly shut the door. “Rather a cool reception,” murmured Tom. “My, but she’s cross! I shouldn’t like to live with her. I wonder how the doctor stands it, he’s so quiet and studious? I wonder if she’s his wife? No, she can’t be. The clerk said he wasn’t married. She must be a housekeeper, or some relation. My, but she seems to be able to make him do just as she likes! The idea of not letting him take his own books that he bought and paid for. I guess he’s so easy that she has him under her thumb.” The time came when this was demonstrated to Tom, even more forcibly than it was on this occasion. CHAPTER III BUSY DAYS