“I didn’t come for the telescope,” said Esther.  “I came to see Dr. Callandar.”

“Oh,” with renewed interest.  “Well, he’s in.  At least he’s in unless he went out while I was upstairs putting Ann to bed.  That’s his consulting room where the light is.  It’s got a door of its own so folks won’t be tramping up the hall—­but of course you know.  You were here this afternoon.  Funny, Mrs. Coombe going away with your poor Auntie sick and all!  I suppose it is your Auntie, since it can’t be Jane or Mrs. Coombe?”

“Yes, it is Aunt Amy.  She has not been very well.”

“The heat, likely.  Heat is hard on folks with weak heads.  Not that your Auntie’s head ever seems weaker than lots of other folks.  Won’t you come up and sit awhile?—­Well, ring the bell.”

Mrs. Sykes voice trailed off indistinctly as Esther rounded the veranda corner and stood by the rose bush before the doctor’s door.  She pushed the new electric bell timidly.

“You’ll have to push harder than that!” called Mrs. Sykes.  “It sticks some!”

But the door had opened at once, letting out a flood of yellow light.

“Miss Coombe—­you?”

“It’s Esther Coombe come about her Aunt Amy,” called the voice from the veranda.

Hastily the doctor drew her in and closed the door with an emphatic bang.  Then for the second time that day they looked into each other’s eyes and laughed.

“Do you think my patients will stand that?” he asked her ruefully.

“Oh, we are used to Mrs. Sykes, we don’t mind.”

“That’s good!  Ah, I see you have the mysterious prescription.  It wasn’t so hard after all, was it?  Probably your mother was quite as anxious as you.”

“No, she refused to let me show it you.  I took it.  To-night was the only chance, for she is going away to-morrow and will take it with her.”

“And how about your Presbyterian conscience?” Still with a twinkle.

“Silenced, for the present.  But look at it quickly for the silence may not last.  It seemed that I simply had to help mother, in spite of herself.  And there was no other way.  All the same I shall despise myself when I get time to think.”

The doctor took the paper with a smile.  “When that time comes I shall argue with you, though argument rarely affects feeling.  To my mind you are doing an eminently sensible thing.”

He opened the paper and peered at it under the lamp; looked quickly up at the girl’s eager face and then from her to the paper again.

“What is it?” she asked anxiously.

“Why—­I don’t know.  Where did you get this?”

“In the secret drawer of father’s desk.”

“Was the prescription always kept there?”

“Yes.”

The doctor folded the paper again and handed it to her.  “Does this look like the prescription?”

“Yes, of course.  It is the prescription.”

“I’m afraid not.  Come and look.”