“You have pain somewhere; where is it?”

She put her hand to her head.

As she was not disposed to talk, he watched her for a while, questioned Old Sophy shrewdly a few minutes, and so made up his mind as to the probable cause of disturbance and the proper remedies to be used.

Some very silly people thought the old Doctor did not believe in medicine, because he gave less than certain poor half-taught creatures in the smaller neighboring towns, who took advantage of people’s sickness to disgust and disturb them with all manner of ill-smelling and ill-behaving drugs.  In truth, he hated to give anything noxious or loathsome to those who were uncomfortable enough already, unless he was very sure it would do good,—­in which case, he never played with drugs, but gave good, honest, efficient doses.  Sometimes he lost a family of the more boorish sort, because they did not think they got their money’s worth out of him, unless they had something more than a taste of everything he carried in his saddlebags.

He ordered some remedies which he thought would relieve Elsie, and left her, saying he would call the next day, hoping to find her better.  But the next day came, and the next, and still Elsie was on her bed, feverish, restless, wakeful, silent.  At night she tossed about and wandered, and it became at length apparent that there was a settled attack, something like what they called, formerly, a “nervous fever.”

On the fourth day she was more restless than common.  One of the women of the house came in to help to take care of her; but she showed an aversion to her presence.

“Send me Helen Darley,” she said, at last.

The old Doctor told them, that, if possible, they must indulge this fancy of hers.  The caprices of sick people were never to be despised, least of all of such persons as Elsie, when rendered irritable and exacting by pain and weakness.

So a message was sent to Mr. Silas Peckham at the Apollinean Institute, to know if he could not spare Miss Helen Darley for a few days, if required, to give her attention to a young lady who attended his school and who was now lying ill,—­no other person than the daughter of Dudley Venner.

A mean man never agrees to anything without deliberately turning it over, so that he may see its dirty side, and, if he can, sweating the coin he pays for it.  If an archangel should offer to save his soul for sixpence, he would try to find a sixpence with a hole in it.  A gentleman says yes to a great many things without stopping to think:  a shabby fellow is known by his caution in answering questions, for fear of, compromising his pocket or himself.

Mr. Silas Peckham looked very grave at the request.  The dooties of Miss Darley at the Institoot were important, very important.  He paid her large sums of money for her time,—­more than she could expect to get in any other institootion for the edoocation of female youth.  A deduction from her selary would be necessary, in case she should retire from the sphere of her dooties for a season.  He should be put to extry expense, and have to perform additional labors himself.  He would consider of the matter.  If any arrangement could be made, he would send word to Squire Venner’s folks.