When Dr. Busby arrived he was a much injured man.  “The mare’s perfectly fit,” he grumbled.  “You’ve made me leave an important case.”

“Very sorry,” returned Mr. Evringham, trying to look so.  “The fact is the Maid has given us a scare in the last hour that I shouldn’t like repeated.  Look her over carefully, Busby, carefully.”

“I have.”  The veterinary gave a cross look around the group, his glance resting a moment on the upturned face of a little flaxen-haired girl who stood with her hand in Mr. Evringham’s.

“He’s falling into his dotage, I guess,” said the doctor privately to Zeke, as he prepared to ride away.

“Don’t fool yourself,” returned the young fellow.  “The mare pretty near scared me into a fit.  My knees ain’t real steady yet.”

He stood watching the disappearing figure of the veterinary.  “That kid believes praying did it,” he mused.  “I ain’t going to believe that, of course, but the whole thing was the queerest ever.”

Mr. Evringham, after one more visit to the stall of Essex Maid, started back to the house, Jewel skipping beside him.

Mrs. Forbes remained in the barn, one hand still pressed to her ample bosom, a teakettle in the other.

“What’d you calc’late to do, ma?” inquired her son, approaching her.

“Wring out hot flannels.  It’s sense to treat colic the same, whether it’s in a horse or a baby.”

Zeke laughed.  “Essex Maid didn’t think so, did she?”

“Wouldn’t let us do a thing.  I saw the tears drip out of Mr. Evringham’s eyes plain as I see you now.  Zeke Forbes, you’ll never know what it was to me to have you come in and speak the way you did.  You couldn’t have done it if you’d mistreated the horse any way.”

“Thank you,” returned the coachman emphatically.  “I ain’t monkeying with buzz saws this year.”

“Not knowingly you wouldn’t.  But, child,”—­Mrs. Forbes set down the kettle and pressed the other hand tighter to her bosom as she came closer to him, “last night you’d been drinking when you came home.”

“Ho!” laughed Zeke uncomfortably, “just a smile or two with the boys.  By ginger, you’ve got a nose on you, mother.”

“Can you think of your father and then laugh over it, Zeke?  There hasn’t a man ever come to be a sot that didn’t laugh about it in the first place.”

“Now, mother, now, now,” said the young fellow in half-impatient tones of consolation, as he took the handkerchief from her apron pocket and wiped her eyes, where tears began to spring.  “You must trust a chap to do what’s right.  I ain’t a fool.  Don’t you think about this again.  I can take care of myself.  Come now, to change the subject, what’s your opinion of Christian Science as applied to horses with the colic?”

“What do you mean?” returned the housekeeper in an unusually subdued tone.

“Why, didn’t you catch on?  The kid was over there in the corner treating the Maid.  That’s what they call it, treating ’em.  Mr. Evringham laughed when he found out, and she jumped on him.  Yes, she did; came right out and told him that wasn’t the way to show his gratitude, or something like that.  Think of the nerve!”