us--and, perhaps, He might----"

My father was quick to press his advantage. "Ay," he cried, "'tis very
_likely_ she'll cure you."

"David," said my mother, tearing at the coverlet, "let us have her over
to see me. She might do me good," she ran on, eagerly. "She might at
least tell me what I'm ailing of. She might stop the pain. She might
even----"

"Hush!" my father interrupted, softly. "Don't build on it, dear," said
he, who had himself, but a moment gone, been so eager and confident.
"But we'll try what she can do."

"Ay, dear," my mother whispered, in a voice grown very weak, "we'll
try."

* * * * *

Skipper Tommy Lovejoy would have my father leave _him_ fetch the woman
from Wolf Cove, nor, to my father's impatient surprise, would hear of
any other; and he tipped me a happy wink--which had also a glint of
mystery in it--when my father said that he might: whereby I knew that
the old fellow was about the business of the book. And three days later,
being on the lookout at the window of my mother's room, I beheld the
punt come back by way of North Tickle, Skipper Tommy labouring heavily
at the oars, and the woman, squatted in the stern, serenely managing the
sail to make the best of a capful of wind. I marvelled that the punt
should make headway so poor in the quiet water--and that she should be
so much by the stern--and that Skipper Tommy should be bent near
double--until, by and by, the doctor-woman came waddling up the path,
the skipper at her heels: whereupon I marvelled no more, for the reason
was quite plain.

"Ecod! lad," the skipper whispered, taking me aside, the while wiping
the sweat from his red face with his hand; "but she'll weigh five
quintal if a pound! She's e-_nar_-mous! 'Twould break your heart t' pull
_that_ cargo from Wolf Cove. But I managed it, lad," with a solemn wink,
"for the good o' the cause. Hist! now; but I found out a wonderful
lot--about cures!"

Indeed, she was of a bulk most extraordinary; and she was rolling in
fat, above and below, though it was springtime! 'Twas a wonder to me,
with our folk not yet fattened by the more generous diet of the season,
that she had managed to preserve her great double chin through the
winter. It may be that this unfathomable circumstance first put me in
awe of her; but I am inclined to think, after all, that it was her eyes,
which were not like the eyes of our folk, but were brown--dog's eyes, we
call them on