When the day came for his first venture on a horse and he rode through the young leafage of June, no enterprise seemed impossible.  How could he be of use to her and these dear people to whom he owed so much?  War had been costly, but it had taught him that devotion to the duty of the hour which is one of the best lessons of that terrible schoolmaster.  There was, as he saw every day, no overruling common sense in the household of Grey Pine, and no apparent possibility of reasonable control.  Just now it was worse than ever, and he meant to talk it over with the two McGregors.  With Josiah riding behind him, he left a message here and there in the village, laughing and jesting, with a word of sympathy where the war had left its cruel memories.  He had been in the little town very often since his return, but never before when free from pain or with the pleasant consciousness that he had it in his power to be to these friends of his childhood what the Colonel had been.  He talked to Joe Grace, left a message for Pole’s son, and then rode on to his appointment.

He sat down with father and son in the unchanged surroundings of the untidy office; even the flies were busy as before on the old man’s tempting bald head.

“Well, John,” said the doctor, “what’s up now?  The Squire won’t see me at all.”  Tom sat still and listened.

“There are two things to consider, and I want your advice; but, first, I want to say that there is no head to that family.  I wonder how Leila stands it.  I mean that your advice shall be taken about a consultation with Prof.  Askew.”

“You want my advice?  Do you, indeed!  Mrs. Penhallow will ask the Colonel’s opinion, he will swear, and the matter is at an end.”

“I mean to have that consultation,” said John.  Tom laughed and nodded approval.

“It’s no use, John, none,” said the older man.

“We shall see about that.  Do you approve?—­that is my question.”

“If that’s the form of advice you want, why, of course—­yes—­but count me out.”

“Count me in, John,” said the younger surgeon.  “I know what Askew will say and what should have been done long ago.”

“An operation?” asked his father.

“Yes, sir, an operation.”

“Too late!”

“Well,” said John, “he gets no worse; a week or two will make no difference, I presume.”

“None,” said Dr. McGregor.

“It may,” said Tom.

“Well, it may have to wait.  Just now there is a very serious question.  Aunt Ann made last night the wild suggestion that the Colonel might be amused if we had one of those rummage-sales with which she used to delight the village.  Uncle Jim at once declared it to be the thing he would like best.  Aunt Ann said we must see about it at once.  Her satisfaction in finding an amusement which the Colonel fancied was really childlike.  Leila said nothing, nor did I. In fact, the proposal came about when I happened unluckily to say what a fine chance Uncle Sam had for a rummage-sale after a forced march or a fight.  I recall having said much the same thing long ago in a letter to Leila.”