“Oh, how fortunate!” she exclaimed.  “Listen, John; now I really have good news for you.  You remember I told you that I met old Dr. Pencoyd the last time I was in Philadelphia, and had a long talk with him.  I told him how you were buried here and how hard you worked and how anxious I was that you should leave Barnegat, and he promised to write to me, and he has.  Here’s his letter.  He says he is getting too old to continue his practice alone, that his assistant has fallen ill, and that if you will come to him at once he will take you into partnership and give you half his practice.  I always knew something good would come out of my last visit to Philadelphia.  Aren’t you delighted, my son?”

“Yes, perfectly overjoyed,” answered the doctor, laughing.  He was more than delighted—­brimming over with happiness, in fact—­but not over his mother’s news; it was the letter held tight in his grasp that was sending electric thrills through him.  “A fine old fellow is Dr. Pencoyd—­known him for years,” he continued; “I attended his lectures before I went abroad.  Lives in a musty old house on Chestnut Street, stuffed full of family portraits and old mahogany furniture, and not a comfortable chair or sofa in the place; wears yellow Nankeen waist-coats, takes snuff, and carries a fob.  Oh, yes, same old fellow.  Very kind of him, mother, but wouldn’t you rather have the sunlight dance in upon you as it does here and catch a glimpse of the sea through the window than to look across at your neighbors’ back walls and white marble steps?” It was across that same sea that Jane was coming, and the sunshine would come with her!

“Yes; but, John, surely you are not going to refuse this without looking into it?” she argued, eyeing him through her gold-rimmed glasses.  “Go and see him, and then you can judge.  It’s his practice you want, not his house.”

“No; that’s just what I don’t want.  I’ve got too much practice now.  Somehow I can’t keep my people well.  No, mother, dear, don’t bother your dear head over the old doctor and his wants.  Write him that I am most grateful, but that the fact is I need an assistant myself, and if he will be good enough to send someone down here, I’ll keep him busy every hour of the day and night.  Then, again,” he continued, a more serious tone in his voice, “I couldn’t possibly leave here now, even if I wished to, which I do not.”

Mrs. Cavendish eyed him intently.  She had expected just such a refusal Nothing that she ever planned for his advancement did he agree to.

“Why not?” she asked, with some impatience.

“The new hospital is about finished, and I am going to take charge of it.”

“Do they pay you for it?” she continued, in an incisive tone.

“No, I don’t think they will, nor can.  It’s not, that kind of a hospital,” answered the doctor gravely.

“And you will look after these people just as you do after Fogarty and the Branscombs, and everybody else up and down the shore, and never take a penny in pay!” she retorted with some indignation.