Never before had Lot addressed her so.  “I believe he did do it himself,” she told her husband next morning, for she could not wake him to intelligence that night; “he’s jest ugly ’nough to.”

The next day at early dawn Lot’s bell, which was kept on his stand beside the bed, in case he should be worse in the night and need assistance, tinkled sharply.

“Send your husband after the doctor,” Lot ordered, peremptorily, when Margaret answered it; and presently early risers saw old man Bean advancing in a rapid shuffle towards the doctor’s, and soon the doctor himself whirled past, his back bent to the rapid motion of his gig.  The report that Lot Gordon was worse went through the village like wildfire.  A crowd collected in the store as soon as the shutters were down; there was a knot of men before the lawyer’s office waiting for him to come; and several hot-headed young fellows pressed into the stable and urged upon Silas Beers that he should keep the old white racer in readiness for an emergency that day, and also several others which, if not as fleet, had good staying powers.

When the doctor entered Lot Gordon’s chamber Margaret Bean followed, tremblingly officious, in his wake, with a bowl and spoon in hand.

“I want to see the doctor alone,” said Lot; and the old woman retreated before his coldly imperious order.  “Stay out in the kitchen,” ordered Lot, further, “and don’t come through the entry; I shall hear you if you do.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Margaret Bean, and obeyed, nor dared listen at the door, as was her wont, so terrified was she lest Lot could indeed hear and had heard in times past.

The doctor, redolent of herbs and drugs, set his medicine-chest on the floor, and advanced upon Lot, who waved him back with a half-laugh.

“Lord, let’s have none of that nonsense this morning,” he said.  “Sit down; I want to talk to you.”

The doctor was gray and unshaven and haggard as ever, from a midnight vigil, the crumbs of his hasty breakfast were on his waistcoat; his eyes were bright as steel under heavy, frowning brows.

“Are ye worse?  Has it come on again?” he demanded.

“No; sit down.”

The doctor snatched up his medicine-chest with a surly exclamation.

“Where are you going?” asked Lot.

“Back to my breakfast.  I’ll not be called out for nothing by you or any other man after I’ve been out all night.  If you want a gossip, get the parson; he’s got time enough on his hands.  A man don’t have to work so many hours a day saving souls as he does saving bodies.”

Lot laughed.  “And neither souls nor bodies saved by either of you, after all,” said he, “for the Lord saves the one, if he has so ordained it; and as for the other, your nostrums only work so long as death does not choose to come.”

“Have it your own way; save your own soul and your own body, as ye please, for all me,” said the doctor, who was adjudged capable when crossed of being surly to a dying man; and he made for the door.