amond, a townhall with a belfry and no
bell, an exhaustive array of churches, the Imperial Hotel, and the
market. We mention the market last (as we were taught at school) because
on account of its importance it ought to come first.

When Dr. Callandar, having been efficiently valeted by Bubble, set out
to pay his first professional call, he drew in deep breaths of the
pleasant air with a feeling of well-being to which he had long been a
stranger. He had slept. In spite of the room, in spite of the chocolate
cake, in spite of the pie, he had slept. And that alone was enough to
make the whole world over. It was still hot but with a heat different
from the heat of yesterday. A little shower had fallen during the night.
There was a sense of the north in the air, a light freshness, very
invigorating. He liked the quiet shaded streets; the cannon by the
courthouse amused him; the number of church steeples left him amazed. He
felt as if he had stumbled into a dream-town and must walk carefully
lest he stumble out.

Bubble had given him very complete directions, indeed so minute were
they that we will omit them lest some day you find the way yourself and
drop in on Mrs. Sykes when she is not expecting company. But Dr.
Callandar in his amused absorption had forgotten that he was going to
Mrs. Sykes at all, when he was recalled to a sense of duty by a sharp
hail from the corner house of a street he had just passed. Looking back,
he saw, half-way down the road, a tall, red woman leaning over a gate,
who, upon attracting his attention, began waving her arms frantically,
after the manner of an old-fashioned signalman inviting a train to "Come
on." Callandar's step quickened in spite of himself and he forgot his
idle musings.

"Land sakes! I thought you'd never get here!" exclaimed the red woman
fervently. "I suppose that imp of a boy didn't direct you right. Lucky I
knew you as soon as you passed the corner. Mark Morrison may be as
useless as they make 'em, but he's got a fine gift for description. Come
right in. I'm dreadful anxious about Ann. It don't seem like measles,
and she's had chicken-pox twice, and if she's sickening for anything
worse I want to know it. I ain't one of them optimists that won't
believe they're sick till they're dead. Callandar's your name, Mark
says--any chance of your being a cousin to Dr. Callandar of Montreal
that cured Mrs. Sowerby?"

"No, I am not that Dr. Callandar's cousin."

"I told Mark 'twa