nows me of old, and will be sure to suspect my agency. I guess that
won't do. Grimes is a good subject; and I've got a sort of spite
against him. I must use him, somehow. The widow Gray would be
first-rate; but I'm a little afraid to bring her in. The doctor's as
poor as Job's turkey, and would be off to visit her on the run. Let me
see? What shall I do? I've got it! I'll send him to York on a fool's
errand!"

And Bunting snapped his finger and thumb in childish delight.

Doctor Grimes, to whom our joker referred, had been in the village only
about a year, and, in that time, had succeeded in making but a small
practice. Not that he was wanting in ability; but he lacked address. In
person, he was rather awkward; and, in manners, far from prepossessing.
Moreover, he was poor, and not able, in consequence, to make a very
good appearance.

We would not like to say that, in selecting Doctor Grimes as the
subject of his best joke for the First of April, Bunting acted on the
principle of a certain worthy, who said of another--

"Kick him; he has no friends!"

But we rather incline to the opinion that some such feeling was in the
heart of the joker.

The First of April came. Doctor Grimes, after eating his breakfast, sat
down in his office to await expected morning calls for consultation, or
to request his attendance on some suffering invalid. But no such calls
were made. The doctor sighed, under the pressure of disappointment, as
he glanced at the timepiece on the mantel, the hands of which pointed
to the figure ten.

"A poor prospect here," he murmured despondingly. "Ah, if there were
none in the world to care for but myself, I would be content on bread
and water while making my way into the confidence of the people. But
others are suffering while I wait for practice. What hinders my
progress? I understand my profession. In not a single instance yet have
I failed to give relief, when called to the bed of sickness. Ah me! I
feel wretched."

Just then, the letter-carrier of the village came in and handed him two
letters. The first one he opened was from a dearly loved, widowed
sister, who wrote to know if he could possibly help her in her poverty
and distress.

"I would not trouble you, my dear, kind brother," she wrote, "knowing
as I do how poor your own prospects are, and how patiently you are
trying to wait for practice, did not want press on me and my babes so
closely. If you can spare me a little--ever so littl