“Oh, see here, dad, you know you’ve got to kiss me!” she cried.

So he did, rather shamefacedly, and they sat together on the dusty veranda and talked.  He had been well, he said, but he was far from looking so.  His face was gray and drawn, his lips were pale, and his long skillful surgeon’s hands looked inert and weary.  When he walked, he had the effect of dragging his feet after him.

“Aren’t you going to take a vacation, dad?” Kate demanded.  “If ever a man appeared to be in need of it, you do.”

“What would I do with a vacation?  And where could I go?  I’d look fine at a summer resort, wouldn’t I, sitting around with idle fools?  If I could only go somewhere to get rid of this damned neurasthenia that all the fool women think they’ve got, I’d go; but I don’t suppose there’s such a place this side of the Arctic Circle.”

Kate regarded him for a moment without answering.  She saw he was almost at the end of his strength and a victim of the very malady against which he was railing.  The constant wear and tear of country practice, year in and year out, had depleted him of a magnificent stock of energy and endurance.  Perhaps, too, she had had her share of responsibility in his decline, for she had been severe with him; had defied him when she might have comforted him.  She forgot his insolence, his meanness, his conscienceless hectoring, as she saw how his temples seemed fallen in and how his gray hair straggled over his brow.  It was she who assumed the voice of authority now.

“There’s going to be a vacation,” she announced, “and it will be quite a long one.  Put your practice in the hands of some one else, let your housekeeper take a rest, and then you come away with me.  I’ll give you three days to get ready.”

He cast at her the old sharp, lance-like look of opposition, but she stood before him so strong, so kind, so daughterly (so motherly, too), that, for one of the few times in his life of senseless domination and obstinacy, he yielded.  The tears came to his eyes.

“All right, Kate,” he said with an accent of capitulation.  He really was a broken old man.

She passed a happy evening with him looking over advertisements of forest inns and fishing resorts, and though no decision was reached, both of them went to bed in a state of pleasant anticipation.  The following day she took his affairs in hand.  The housekeeper was delighted at her release; a young physician was pleased to take charge of Dr. Barrington’s patients.

Kate made him buy new clothes,—­he had been wearing winter ones,—­and she set him out in picturesque gear suiting his lank length and old-time manner.  Then she induced him to select a place far north in the Wisconsin woods, and the third day they were journeying there together.