ep it from un any more."

"Ay," I sobbed, pushing my plate away, for I was of a sudden no longer
hungry, "I heared you cryin' las' night."

My sister came quickly to my side, and wound a soft arm about my neck,
and drew my head close to her heart, and kissed me many times; and when
she had soothed me I looked up and found my mother gloriously glad that
I had cried.

"'Tis nothing," then she said, with a rush of tenderness for my grief.
"'Tis not hard to bear. 'Tis----"

"Ay, but," said my father, "I'll be havin' the doctor t' see you."

My mother pooh-poohed it all. The doctor? For her? Not she! She was not
sick enough for _that_!

"I'm bent," said my father, doggedly, "on havin' that man."

"David," cried my mother, "I'll not have you do it!"

"I'll have my way of it," said my father. "I'm bent on it, an' I'll be
put off no longer. 'Tis no use, m'am--nar a bit! The doctor's comin' t'
see you."

"Ah, well!" sighed my mother.

"Ay," said my father, "I'll have that man ashore when the mail-boat
comes in the spring. 'Tis well on t' December now," he went on, "an' it
may be we'll have an early break-up. Sure, if they's westerly winds in
the spring, an' the ice clears away in good season, we'll be havin' the
mail-boat north in May. Come, now! 'twill not be later than June, I
'low. An' I'll have that doctor ashore in a hurry, mark my words, when
the anchor's down. That I will!"

"'Tis a long time," said my mother.

Every morning, thereafter, she said that she was better--always
better--much, much better. 'Twas wonderful, she said, 'twas fair past
making out, indeed, that she should so soon grow into a fine, hearty
woman again; and 'twould be an easy matter, said she, for the mail-boat
doctor to cure _her_--when he came. And she was now more discreet with
her moods; not once did I catch her brooding alone, though more than
once I lay in wait in dark corners or peered through the crack in the
door; and she went smiling about the house, as of old--but yet not as of
old; and I puzzled over the difference, but could not discover it. More
often, now, at twilight, she lured me to her lap, where I was never
loath to go, great lad of nine years though I was; and she sat silent
with me, rocking, rocking, while the deeper night came down--and she
kissed me so often that I wondered she did not tire of it--and she
stroked my brow and cheeks, and touched my eyes, and ran her finger-tips
over my eyebrows and nose and lips, ay