Brother Soulsby showed a most comforting tact and swiftness of apprehension when Alice, in mentioning Dr. Ledsmar’s name, disclosed by her manner a fear that his being sent for would create talk among the church people.  He volunteered at once to act as messenger himself, and, with no better guide than her dim hints at direction, found the doctor and brought him back to the parsonage.

Dr. Ledsmar expressly disclaimed to Soulsby all pretence of professional skill, and made him understand that he went along solely because he liked Mr. Ware, and was interested in him, and in any case would probably be of as much use as the wisest of strange physicians—­a view which the little revivalist received with comprehending nods of tacit acquiescence.  Ledsmar came, and was taken up to the sick-room.  He sat on the bedside and talked with Theron awhile, and then went downstairs again.  To Alice’s anxious inquiries, he replied that it seemed to him merely a case of over-work and over-worry, about which there was not the slightest occasion for alarm.

“But he says the strangest things,” the wife put in.  “He has been quite delirious at times.”

“That means only that his brain is taking a rest as well as his body,” remarked Ledsmar.  “That is Nature’s way of securing an equilibrium of repose—­of recuperation.  He will come out of it with his mind all the fresher and clearer.”

“I don’t believe he knows shucks!” was Alice’s comment when she closed the street door upon Dr. Ledsmar.  “Anybody could have come in and looked at a sick man and said, ‘Leave him alone.’  You expect something more from a doctor.  It’s his business to say what to do.  And I suppose he’ll charge two dollars for just telling me that my husband was resting!”

“No,” said Brother Soulsby, “he said he never practised, and that he would come only as a friend.”

“Well, it isn’t my idea of a friend—­not to prescribe a single thing,” protested Alice.

Yet it seemed that no prescription was needed, after all.  The next morning Theron woke to find himself feeling quite restored in spirits and nerves.  He sat up in bed, and after an instant of weakly giddiness, recognized that he was all right again.  Greatly pleased, he got up, and proceeded to dress himself.  There were little recurring hints of faintness and vertigo, while he was shaving, but he had the sense to refer these to the fact that he was very, very hungry.  He went downstairs, and smiled with the pleased pride of a child at the surprise which his appearance at the door created.  Alice and the Soulsbys were at breakfast.  He joined them, and ate voraciously, declaring that it was worth a month’s illness to have things taste so good once more.

“You still look white as a sheet,” said Alice, warningly.  “If I were you, I’d be careful in my diet for a spell yet.”