y vines, sassafras and
sumac bushes made one inextricable tangle of vegetation along the zigzag
fence. There was a gap in the fence which served for a gate. John went
through, then stopped for a moment. Not from fear at entering the
stricken place. He had no bodily fear, nor ever had. But the awful
loneliness of the spot weighed upon him. Low hills, bush-dotted and
gullied, arose on every side except the southern one, where a small
field, untilled and marshy, lay along a creek bed, now nearly dry.
Beyond this, and perhaps half a mile away, on higher ground, was a
rather pretentious looking farmhouse which he guessed, rightly, to be
the home of Mr. Hoonover. The miserable log shanty facing him was
pitiful in its decay and loneliness. The ground all about it was bare,
and a few stunted, shrivelled cedars stood at one side. The chinking had
fallen from the stick-and-mud chimney, and it looked like the torso of
some giant skeleton. The door was shut; the one window darkened from the
inside by what appeared to be a ragged quilt. A lean brown cur lay by
the rotten log serving for a door step, too lazy or too near dead from
starvation to lift its voice at the intrusion of a stranger. The dog
was the only sign of life. All the rest, was silence, poverty,
desolation. No birds sang here; not even the shrilling of an insect cut
the great stillness. A feeling almost of awe came over John Glenning,
standing there alone in the strong sunlight, vigorous, assertive,
confident of his power to do. He scarcely wondered that Doctor Kale had
refused the case. But he was glad he had taken it. Not alone to get a
start in the community, for this was a beginning at practice which most
men would not value, but here was a fellow being, sick, friendless and
helpless. He would save him if he could, although the pauper's life
could scarcely be of use to anyone, and he would be better off dead.

John's grip tightened on the handle of his medicine case and he walked
briskly and firmly to the door, and knocked. The cur arose and slunk a
few paces to one side, then lay down again, with his yellow eyes fixed
on the man. The door was opened a crack, and a rasping female voice
said:

"Go 'way. My man's got the small-pox!"

"I'm the doctor," answered Glenning; "let me in."

There was a moment's hesitation, during which a brief argument took
place between the woman and some one else inside, then the door was
grudgingly opened wide enough for John to ente