nd
blank paper, he liked to have them.

Thus far he had felt no more need of his books than he had for his
surgical instruments, but now he was glad he had them for the sake of
the girl who was "that sot on all such." He would open the box the
moment he had eaten, and look them over. The little brother should take
them down to her one at a time--or better--he would take them himself
and watch the smile which came so rarely and sweetly to play about her
lips, and in her eyes, and vanish. Surely he had a right to that for his
pains.

He heard the sound of rapid hoof beats approaching across the level
space from the cabin above him, and looking up, as if conjured from his
innermost thought, he saw her coming, allowing the colt to swing along
as he would. Her bonnet hung by the strings from her arm, her hair blew
in crinkling wisps across her face, and the rapid exercise had brought
roses into the creamy whiteness of her skin. She kept to the brow of the
ridge and would have passed him unseeing, her eyes fixed on the distant
hills, had he not called to her in his clear Alpine jodel.

She reined in sharply and, slipping from the saddle, walked quickly to
him, leading the colt, which was warm and panting as if he had carried
her a good distance at that pace.

"Oh, Doctor Thryng, we need you right bad. That's why I took this way
home. Have you been to the house?"

"Yes. I have just come from there."

"Is mother all right?"

"Doing splendidly." He waited, and she lifted her face to him anxiously.

"We need you bad, Doctor."

"Yes--but not you--you're not--" he began stupidly.

"It's Mr. Irwin. I went there to see could I help any, and seemed like I
couldn't get here soon enough. When I found you were not at home, I was
that troubled. Can--can you go up there and see why I can't rest for
thinking he's a heap worse than he reckons? He thinks he's better,
but--but--"

"Come in and rest and tell me about it."

"Mistress Irwin isn't quite well, and I must go back as soon as I can
get everything done at home. I must get dinner for mother and Hoyle. You
have been that kind to mother--I thought--I thought--if you could only
see him--they can't spare him to die."

"Indeed, I'll go, gladly. But you must tell me more, so that I may know
what to take with me. What is the matter with the man? Is he ill or
hurt? Let me--oh, you are an independent young woman."

She had turned from him to mount, and he stepped forward with