I heard again the stories of how he drove the country roads, winter and summer, how he had seen most of the population into the world and had held the hands of many who went out!  It was the plain, hard life of a country doctor, and yet it seemed to rise in our community like some great tree, its roots deep buried in the soil of our common life, its branches close to the sky.  To those accustomed to the outward excitements of city life it would have seemed barren and uneventful.  It was significant that the talk was not so much of what the Doctor did as of how he did it, not so much of his actions as of the natural expression of his character.  And when we come to think of it, goodness is uneventful.  It does not flash, it glows.  It is deep, quiet and very simple.  It passes not with oratory, it is commonly foreign to riches, nor does it often sit in the places of the mighty:  but may be felt in the touch of a friendly hand or the look of a kindly eye.

Outwardly, John North often gave the impression of brusqueness.  Many a woman, going to him for the first time, and until she learned that he was in reality as gentle as a girl, was frightened by his manner.  The country is full of stories of such encounters.  We laugh yet over the adventure of a woman who formerly came to spend her summers here.  She dressed very beautifully and was “nervous.”  One day she went to call on the Doctor.  He made a careful examination and asked many questions.  Finally he said, with portentous solemnity: 

“Madam, you’re suffering from a very common complaint.”

The Doctor paused, then continued, impressively: 

“You haven’t enough work to do.  This is what I would advise.  Go home, discharge your servants, do your own cooking, wash your own clothes and make your own beds.  You’ll get well.”

She is reported to have been much offended, and yet to-day there was a wreath of white roses in Doctor North’s room sent from the city by that woman.

If he really hated anything in this world the Doctor hated whimperers.  He had a deep sense of the purpose and need of punishment, and he despised those who fled from wholesome discipline.

A young fellow once went to the Doctor—­so they tell the story—­and asked for something to stop his pain.

“Stop it!” exclaimed the Doctor:  “why, it’s good for you.  You’ve done wrong, haven’t you?  Well, you’re being punished; take it like a man.  There’s nothing more wholesome than good honest pain.”

And yet how much pain he alleviated in this community—­in forty years!

The deep sense that a man should stand up to his fate was one of the key-notes of his character; and the way he taught it, not only by word but by every action of his life, put heart into many a weak man and woman, Mrs. Patterson, a friend of ours, tells of a reply she once had from the Doctor to whom she had gone with a new trouble.  After telling him about it she said: