“Shackled to her, also with a pail, is the helpless Araminta.  Among the impedimenta are the Reverend Austin Thorpe and the step-ladder, the Reverend Thorpe being, dismissed at the door and allowed to run amuck for the day.

“The Penates are duly thrown out of the windows, the veiled chatelaine sitting by mute and helpless.  One room is scrubbed till it’s so clean a fly would fall down in it, and the ministering angel goes back to her own spotless residence after bedding.  I believe I didn’t understand exactly why she went after the bedding, but I can doubtless find out the next time I see Miss Mehitable.

“In the absence of the superintendent, Araminta seizes the opportunity to fall off the top of the ladder, lighting on her ankle, and fainting most completely on the way down.  The rest is history.

“Doctor Dexter being out, his son, perforce, has to serve.  The ankle being duly set and the excitement allayed, terms are made in private with the ‘play doctor.’  How much, Father, do you suppose I am to be paid the day Araminta walks again?”

Doctor Dexter dismissed the question.  “Couldn’t guess,” he grunted.

“Four and a half,” said Ralph, proudly.

“Hundred?” asked Doctor Dexter, with a gleam of interest.  “You must have imbibed high notions at college.”

“Hundred!” shouted Ralph, “Heavens, no!  Four dollars and a half!  Four dollars and fifty cents, marked down from five for this day only.  Special remnant sale of repaired ankles!” The boy literally doubled himself in his merriment.

“You bloated bondholder,” said his father, fondly.  “Don’t be extravagant with it.”

“I won’t,” returned Ralph, between gasps.  “I thought I’d put some of it into unincumbered real estate and loan the rest on good security at five per cent.”

Into the lonely house Ralph’s laughter came like the embodied spirit of Youth.  It searched out the hidden corners, illuminated the shadows, stirred the silences to music.  A sunbeam danced on the stair, where, according to Doctor Dexter’s recollection, no sunbeam had ever dared to dance before.  Ah, it, was good to have the boy at home!

“Miss Mehitable,” observed Doctor Dexter, after a pause, “is like the poor—­always with us.  I seldom get to a patient who is really in danger before she does.  She seems to have secret wires stretched all over the country and she has the clinical history of the neighbourhood at her tongue’s end.  What’s more, she distributes it, continually, painstakingly, untiringly.  Every detail of every case I have charge of is spread broadcast, by Miss Mehitable.  I’d have a bad reputation, professionally, if so much about my patients was generally known anywhere else.”

“Is she a good nurse?” asked Ralph.

“According to her light, yes; but she isn’t willing to work on recognised lines.  She’ll dose my patients with roots and herbs of her own concocting if she gets a chance, and proudly claim credit for the cure.  If the patient dies, everybody blames me.  I can’t sit by a case of measles and keep Miss Mehitable from throwing sassafras tea into it more than ten hours at a stretch.”