“No,” replied the doctor, “that will not do; of course I must go to her.”

“You mustn’t do anything of the kind!” exclaimed Mrs. Tolbridge, her eyes sparkling.  “How many times by night and by day has that woman called you away on a fool’s errand?  It is likely as not that there is nothing more the matter with her than there is with me.  She has no right to worry the life out of you in this way.  She ought to have gone to heaven long ago.”

“You shouldn’t talk of my patients in that way, Kitty,” said the doctor; “and in the opinion of a good many of her neighbors the old lady is not bound for heaven.”

“I don’t care where she is going, but one thing is certain:  you are not going to her this afternoon.  You are not fit for it.”

“You must remember, Kitty,” said the doctor, “that Miss Panney is an old lady, and though she may sound many a false alarm, the true alarm is to be expected, and I would much prefer to go by daylight than to wait until after supper.  The roads are bad, the air is raw, and she would keep me nobody knows how late.  I want to go to bed early to-night.”

“And that is what you are going to do,” said Mrs. Tolbridge.

He looked at her inquiringly.  “Harry,” said she, “you have been up nearly all night.  You have been working the greater part of this day, and I do not intend to let you drive three miles to be nearly talked to death by Racilia Panney.  No, you needn’t shake your head in that way; she is not to be neglected.  I shall go myself and see what is the matter with her, and if it is really anything serious, I can then let you know.  I do not believe she would have sent for you at all, if she had not known the wagon was going to town.”

“But, my dear,” said the doctor, “you cannot—­”

“Yes, I can,” interrupted his wife.  “I want some fresh air and shall enjoy the drive, and Buckskin has done nothing for two days.  I shall take the cart, Tom can get up behind, and I can go there in less than half an hour.”

“But if there really is anything the matter—­” said the doctor.

“It’s just as likely as not,” interrupted his wife, “that what she wants is somebody to talk to, and that a minister or a lawyer or a stranger from foreign parts would do just as well as you.  And now put on your slippers, push the sofa up to the fire, and take your nap, and I’ll go and see how the case really stands.”

The doctor smiled.  “I have no more to say,” said he.  “There are angels who bless us by coming, and there are angels who bless us by going.  You belong to both classes.  But don’t stay too long.”

“In any case I shall be back before dark,” she said, and with a kiss on his forehead she left him.

Dr. Tolbridge looked into the fire and considered.

“Ought I to let her go?” he asked himself.  This question, mingled with various thoughts and recollections of former experiences with Miss Panney, occupied the doctor’s mind until he heard the swift rolling of the dog-cart wheels as they passed his window.  Then he arose, put on his slippers, drew up the soft cushioned sofa, and lay down for a nap.