“I did not decide rashly,” he said, “but after weeks of anxious thought and prayer for guidance I came to the conclusion that in the practice of medicine I could find perhaps as broad a field for good as in the church, and so I decided to go on with my profession—­to be a physician of the poor and suffering, speaking to them of Him who came to save, and in this way I shall not labor in vain.  Many would seek another place than Silverton and its vicinity, but something told me that my work was here, and so I am content to stay, feeling thankful that my means admit of my waiting for patients, if need be, and at the same time ministering to the wants of those who are needy.”

Gradually, as he talked, there came into his face a light, born only from the peace which passeth understanding, and the awe-struck Katy crept closer to his side, and, grasping his hand in hers, said, softly:  “Dear cousin, what a good man you are, and how silly I must seem to you, thinking you cared for tea-drinkings, or even girls, when, of course, you do not.”

“Perhaps I do,” the doctor replied, slightly pressing the warm, fat hand holding his so fast.  “A minister’s or a doctor’s life would be dreary indeed if there was no one to share it, and I have had my dreams of the girls, or girl, who was some day to brighten up my home.”

He looked fully at Katy now, but she was thinking of something else, and her next remark was to ask him, rather abruptly, how old he was.

“Twenty-six last May,” he answered, while Katy continued:  “You are not old enough to be married yet.  Wilford Cameron is thirty.”

“Where did you meet Wilford Cameron?” Morris asked, in some surprise, and then the story which Katy had not told, even to her sister, came out in full, and Morris tried to listen patiently while Katy explained how, on the very first day of the examination, Mrs. Woodhull had come in, and with her the grandest, proudest-looking man, who the girls some of them said was Mr. Wilford Cameron, from New York, a very fastidious bachelor, whose family were noted for their wealth and exclusiveness, keeping six servants, and living in the finest style; that Mrs. Woodhull, who all through the year had been very kind to Katy, came to her after school and invited her home to tea; that she had gone, and met Mr. Cameron; that she was very much afraid of him at first, and was not sure that she was quite over it now, although he was so polite to her all through the journey, taking so much pains to have her see the finest sights, and laughing at her enthusiasm.

“Wilford Cameron with you on your trip?” Morris asked, a new idea, dawning on his mind.

“Yes; let me tell you,” and Katy spoke rapidly.  “I saw him that night, and then Mrs. Woodhull took me to ride with him in the carriage, and then—­well, I rode alone with him once down by the lake, and he talked to me just as if he was not a grand man and I a little schoolgirl.  And when the term closed I stayed at Mrs. Woodhull’s, and he was there.  He liked my playing and liked my singing, and I guess he liked me—­that is, you know—­yes, he liked me some,” and Katy twisted the fringe of her shawl, while Morris, in spite of the pain tugging at his heart-strings, laughed aloud as he rejoined:  “I have no doubt he did; but go on—­what next?”