Dr. Tolbridge put his hands behind him.

“This case is out of my usual line of practice,” he said, “and my ordinary schedule of fees does not apply to it.  For advice such as I have given you I never charge money.  I take nothing but cats.”

“What!” exclaimed Miss Dora; “what on earth do you mean?”

“I mean cats,” he replied, “or rather kittens.  I am very fond of kittens, and at present we have not one in the house.  So, if you have a kitten—­”

“Dr. Tolbridge,” cried Miss Dora, her eyes sparkling, “do you really mean that?  Would you truly like to have an Angora kitten?”

“That is exactly the breed I want,” he answered.

“Why, I have five,” she said; “they are only four days old, and perfect beauties.  I shall be charmed to give you one, and I will pick out the very prettiest for you.  As soon as it is old enough, I will bring it to you, already named, and with a ribbon on its neck.  What color would you like the ribbon to be?”

“For Angoras, blue,” he said; “I shall be so glad to have a kitten like that; but remember that you must not bring it to me until its eyes are opened, and it has—­”

“Doctor,” interrupted Miss Dora, raising her forefinger, “you were just on the point of saying, ‘and has shed its milk mind.’  Now I am going away before you make me angry again.”

When his patient had gone, Dr. Tolbridge put another log on the fire, shook up the cushions of the sofa, and lay down to continue his nap.

CHAPTER II

MISS PANNEY

The Witton family, distant relatives of Miss Panney, with whom she had lived for many years, resided on a farm in the hilly country above Thorbury, and when Mrs. Tolbridge had rattled through the town, she found the country road very rough and bad—­hard and bumpy in some places, and soft and muddy in others; but Buckskin was in fine spirits and pulled her bravely on.

When she reached the Witton house she left the horse in charge of the boy, and opening the hall door, went directly up to Miss Panney’s room.  Knocking, she waited some little time for an answer, and then was told, in a clear, high voice, to come in.  The room was large and well lighted.  Against one of the walls stood a high-posted bed with a canopy, and on one of the pillows of the bed appeared the head of an elderly woman, the skin darkened and wrinkled by time, the nose aquiline, and the black eyes very sharp and quick of movement.  This head was surrounded by the frills of a freshly laundered night-cap, and the smooth white coverlid was drawn up close under its chin.

“Upon my word,” exclaimed the person in the bed, “is that you, Mrs. Tolbridge?  I thought it was the doctor.”

“I don’t wonder at that, Miss Panney,” said Mrs. Tolbridge.  “At times we have very much the same sort of knock.”

“But where is the doctor?” asked the old lady.