The service was brief and simple; the good old clergyman preached the gospel of hope, and his words calmed and strengthened the young girl’s mind.  She was made to feel that there is something more and better than present happiness—­that there are remedies for earthly ills.

When she returned to the hotel she found that Mrs. Muir was worried about Jack, who was worse, and that a Dr. Sommers had been sent for.  She could not help smiling when, a little later, the hospitable usher of the chapel came briskly in.  She eventually learned that the doctor provoked smiles wherever he went, as a breeze raises ripples on the surface of a stream.  He smiled himself when he met people, and every one took the contagion.  He examined the baby, said the case would require a little watching until certain teeth came through, and then that there would be no further trouble.  He spoke with the same confidence with which he would announce that July was near.

“You watch the case, then,” said Mr. Muir, decisively.  “I must be in town.  If you can look after the child and save my wife from worry, my mind will be easy as regards this end of the line at least.”

“All right, sir.  We’ll manage it.  Healthy boy.  No trouble.”

“Have you lived long among the mountains, doctor?” Madge ventured to ask.

“I should think so.  As long as I have lived.  Was born and brought up among ’em.”

“It must be dreary here in the winter,” Mrs. Muir remarked.

“Not a bit of it.  It’s never dreary.”

“How far among the hills does your practice extend?” Madge pursued.

“As far as I’ll go, and I’m usually going.”

“Perhaps you can give us, then, some advice as to drives and walks.”

“Oh, lots, free gratis.  I can tell Mr. Muir of a trout-stream or two, also.”

“Doctor,” said Madge, laughing, “I am very ill.  I shall need much advice, and prescriptions of all the romantic walks and drives in the vicinity.”

“And like most of the advice from doctors, it won’t be taken.  A stroll on the piaza is about all that most ladies are equal to.  You look, however, as if you should not fear a steep path or a rough road.”

“You shall see,” cried Madge.

“Yes, I will see,” said the doctor, laughing, and bowing himself out.  “I’ve seen a great many ladies who could dance miles, but were as afraid of a mountain as of a bear.”

At the dinner-table Mrs. Muir said, laughingly, “In Dr. Sommers, Madge has found a kindred spirit—­another oiler of machinery.  If between him and Madge things don’t go smoothly, the fates are indeed against us.”