JULIET W1LBOR TOMPKINS 
 
OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
I 
 
 RUTH 
 
Dr. Ellen 
 
 BY 
 
 JULIET WILBOR TOMPKINS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE BAKER fcf TAYLOR COMPANY 
 
Copyright, 1908, by 
 
 THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY 
 
 Published, January, 1908 
 
 The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 
 
do 
 
 DR. ELLEN 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 r I ^HE girl appeared disproportionately happy, even 
 -- absurdly so. Amsden had watched her during 
 the somewhat stupid finals of the tennis tournament 
 that afternoon, his attention caught by an impression 
 of surface brilliance that made her seem of another 
 race from the young women about her in the little hot 
 grandstand. The brilliance was not of colour, for the 
 faint powdery blondness of her hair found little con 
 trast in her light hazel eyes and even paleness; it was 
 the breathless happiness shining out that made her 
 seem so vivid. She was full of eager laughs that 
 spilled over at the lightest touch. Her eyes followed 
 the balls back and forth with joyous abandon; she 
 cried out at tense moments, and beat her parasol on 
 the platform in applause. She seemed to have an 
 inordinate capacity for trivial excitements, vaguely 
 repelling in a young woman who was clearly out of her 
 teens. 
 
 Later, Amsden, who had paused near the door of the 
 ballroom, found her looking on there with the same 
 intensity, and extracting from the conversation of Will 
 Wallace a stimulating charm which to Amsden s 
 positive knowledge did not exist. Had she been 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 fifteen! But time had marked her twenty-three or 
 four at least; besides, she was evidently with Christine 
 O Hara, and Christine was no missionary to de*bu- 
 tantes. Amsden s eyes followed the latter s light red 
 curls about the ballroom until they paused near an 
 open window, then he crossed to her with a deliberate 
 slowness that was not at all a stroll. In all his actions 
 there was a neat precision that precluded any impres 
 sion of loose-jointed carelessness. 
 
 Christine s smile at his approach had a histrionic 
 quality. " Me to be so honoured !" it said as she turned 
 from a red and shiny partner some seven years her 
 juinor the tournament dance was not a socially 
 brilliant affair. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" she demanded in 
 mock alarm. " Don t you know that grown men under 
 fifty are not allowed in the ballroom?" 
 
 Amsden smiled indulgently at the broad, plump face 
 in its frame of little curls. He could not trouble to be 
 playful himself, but he had no objection to Christine s 
 gambols so long as they made no demand on him, A 
 delicate skin and amusing little brown eyes would have 
 made her pretty if she had not used her face much 
 as a more frankly coy generation did its fan, peering 
 through it for effects, presenting it always at a mean 
 ingful angle. 
 
 "Who is that rapturous young woman you have 
 with you?" he asked. 
 
 "So that is what brings you not me at all," said 
 Christine inevitably, though more by way of doing her 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 duty by the situation than in any expectation of a 
 response. "It s Ruth Chantry," she added. " Didn t 
 you ever know the Chantry girls?" Her eyes were 
 wandering restlessly among the dancers as though 
 marking future partners. A little girl of twelve with 
 long, pink legs was whirled by, waltzing exquisitely, 
 with the bland air of one who has partners in abundance. 
 "How absurd to let that child sit up," Christine ex 
 claimed impatiently. 
 
 "Was there an older Chantry girl who had some 
 sort of a tragedy?" Amsden asked. 
 
 "Yes, Ellen. Ruth has a tragedy, too, let me tell 
 you." 
 
 "She looks it." 
 
 Christine laughed. "What you are seeing is a 
 momentary escape. That girl has been cooped up 
 in a little cabin off in the Sierras for three solid years 
 not one day in town, even. What do you think of 
 that for tyranny?" 
 
 "Who is the tyrant?" 
 
 " Oh, Ellen Mrs. Roderick, she is. She chooses 
 to live there, and Ruth has to live with her. I d go 
 mad. I can t stand Ellen, anyway. She s su-per-ior!" 
 The word crinkled her expressive nose. "Come and 
 meet Ruth, if you like," she added briskly, as the 
 music came to a halt and various partners were set 
 free. "I want her to have a good time." 
 
 Amsden followed somewhat reluctantly. The mis 
 sionary spirit was not strong in him, and the girl inter 
 ested him as an abstract fact rather than as a personal 
 
 3 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 acquaintance. Moreover, he was impatient of being 
 detained in this absurd ballroom, fuD of undistinguish- 
 able young women and crimson tennis heroes. All 
 this belonged to a phase he had passed too long ago 
 for a trace of charm to linger, and yet too recently for 
 any reminiscent sympathy. 
 
 Ruth Chantry showed herself as glad of meeting 
 Amsden as she was of even-thing else. Her light hazel 
 eyes were brimming with smiles. 
 
 "I am not dancing because I solemnly promised not 
 to get overtired," she explained; Amsden had suggested 
 a waltz as the easiest way of meeting the situation, 
 feeling himself helpless to cope with so much enthu 
 siasm. "It s not that I don t love it!" 
 
 "Then you are an invalid?" he asked, taking the 
 chair beside her. She laughed, and showed a brown 
 forearm under the ruffles of her thin white dress. 
 
 "Does that look like an invalid? I was one, three 
 years ago," she added. "At least, I had been very 
 ill, and my sister got so in the habit of laying down the 
 law, she can t get over it." There was a trace of im 
 patience in her tone that interested Amsden, who was 
 always curious about human relations that did not 
 touch himself. 
 
 "Is your sister here to-night?" he asked with a 
 glance towards the dancers. She laughed. 
 
 "Fancy Ellen out there!" Her delight at the 
 idea brought a smile of sympathy that asked for an 
 explanation. "My sister is a doctor," she said in 
 answer. "She rides about the mountains on a cavalry 
 
 4 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 saddle, with saddle-bags full of medicines and instru 
 ments, and the poor women have to hide their beloved 
 patent medicines under the mattress when they hear 
 her coming they are deadly afraid of her. Every 
 one is afraid of her," she added resentfully. 
 
 "Is she so stern?" Amsden asked. The picture had 
 appealed to him. 
 
 " Oh, no, not stern at all very calm and kind and 
 firm and fine and just." Her vivid face had clouded. 
 " Don t you think that superiority frightens people 
 more than anything else?" 
 
 "I think it makes them very cross," he said with 
 amused understanding. She expanded delightedly. 
 
 "Only one can t admit it; it sounds so small and 
 mean!" she exclaimed. And so there was a secret 
 between them already. "Don t you hate to be big 
 and just and broad-minded?" 
 
 "I never tried." It was pleasant to humour 
 her, and see the satisfaction well up in her hazel 
 eyes. 
 
 "How nice! I am always trying like the frog 
 who tried to swell up into an ox. He didn t really 
 want to be an ox, I am sure, but his family expected 
 it of him." 
 
 "Might one not be a very modest ox who mistook 
 himself for a frog?" 
 
 She shook her head. "Oh, no. I was born with 
 all the comfortable little feminine vices I am vain, 
 you know, and jealous, and petty, and unreasonable, 
 and cowardly, and I have been shamed out of showing 
 
 5 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 them all my life. You don t know how horrid it is to 
 be high-minded every day!" 
 
 This burst of confidence was so earnest that Amsden 
 was moved to laughter. "I can t imagine anything 
 more awful," he admitted, whereupon she laughed too. 
 
 Christine O Hara paused in front of them, his 
 trionically pouting. Christine would have denned 
 feelings as facial expressions designed to add piquancy 
 to conversation if she had been given to definitions. 
 
 "He never laughs when he is with me," she com 
 plained. "How did you make him, Ruth?" 
 
 Ruth reflected. "Why, I told him the tragedy of 
 my life," she decided. 
 
 "Well, I dare say that is awfully funny," said Chris 
 tine. She had taken Amsden s chair and he stood in 
 front of them, free to escape, yet for once in no hurry 
 to take advantage of it. "But I have a tragedy that 
 is funnier yet. We are going to be one man short on 
 our drive to-morrow. I don t suppose you would 
 come," she added to Amsden. 
 
 "Why not ask me and see?" 
 
 Christine asked him with elaborate formality, but 
 Ruth Chantry smiled up at him like a happy little 
 girl. Such enthusiasm was perhaps vaguely repelling 
 in a young woman clearly out of her teens; but Amsden 
 had forgotten that. 
 
II 
 
 PHILIP AMSDEN had gone to the tennis tournament 
 at San Rafael because he was tired of being told that 
 he was overworking. Of course he was; he did not 
 need outside advice to know that. A young architect 
 in a big city is inevitably overworking if he can claim 
 such a position as Amsden had reached at thirty-three. 
 He was not an enthusiast at life, but success, worldly 
 and artistic, had seemed to him, as he put it, "worth 
 the trouble," and he had aimed towards this with 
 quiet singleness of purpose. This deliberate choice, 
 excluding many elements inevitable to the lives of the 
 men about him, was beginning gradually to enclose 
 him in a sort of shell which might in time become one 
 and inseparable with the man himself; as yet he was 
 half indifferently conforming to what the world de 
 manded of him. A sincere respect for his art and an 
 amused contempt for the conditions to worldly success 
 made the outer conforming comparatively easy, and, 
 as yet, little harmful; his spirit was still that of one 
 who lends himself for an evening to a children s party. 
 This implies, and quite truthfully, a certain conceit. 
 Amsden felt himself civilized above his community. 
 It was definitely within his intentions, however, that 
 
 7 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 the community should not be unpleasantly conscious 
 of the fact, with the result that he was usually described 
 as a " quiet, likeable sort of a chap," or "a pleasant 
 fellow to have round." Of women younger than 
 himself he saw little, for a sharp experience three 
 years before had left him with several generalizations, 
 the chief being that love is a power vastly exaggerated 
 by novelists. The memory of his brief, inglorious 
 engagement could still make him wince. It had been 
 a nightmare of analysis, for, instead of finding love by 
 forgetting it, they had cornered the poor butterfly at 
 the first flutter and investigated it conscientiously until 
 not a stirring of its wings survived and they were left 
 with only their empty questions between them. "Do 
 you love me?" is the natural song of the true lover, 
 but "Do I love you?" is a blight and an enemy to joy. 
 When the end came, they had kissed each other very 
 sadly and gone home to tears and bitterness; and both 
 had waked up the next morning vastly relieved. So 
 had ended the first lesson, and Amsden had gone in 
 for success, believing that he had done with illusions. 
 Personally he was grave, slight and scholarly looking, 
 with the refining mark of a long New England ancestry 
 in his face, tempered by some sturdier reflection of his 
 California heritage. He was not robust, but his grey 
 eyes behind his glasses had a look of quiet strength. 
 It was easy to fancy Amsden living well into the eighties 
 with all his senses intact. 
 
 Monday morning he was back at his San Francisco 
 office, but obviously not overworking. A mood of 
 
 8 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 pleasant idleness seemed to have come back with him. 
 The fact that he was to dine that night at the O Haras 
 would usually have depressed him, but to-day it seemed 
 an agreeable prospect. Pictures of Ruth Chantry, 
 floating before his vision, filled him with paternal 
 kindliness. She had a curious wet shine in her eyes 
 when she laughed, and her almost colorless hair looked 
 as if it would cling to one s finger like a baby s. Amsden 
 smiled indulgently at the recollection, tipping back 
 from his work-table with his hands in his pockets. 
 There was a pleasant lack of intellectual effort in talk 
 ing to her. He had come back from that long driving 
 trip as unwearied as if his companion had been a 
 merry little dog. The exhausting researches into life 
 and character that had been a part of his brief engage 
 ment had left Amsden with a deep antipathy to in 
 timate feminine conversation. Those hours of feverish 
 analysis, the endless letters of minute explanation, 
 could oppress him even yet with the burden of their 
 weary futility. They had not taught him to think 
 less, for he was essentially of those who wonder at this 
 world until they die; but they had left a mental nausea 
 for intensity, so that his chosen companions of the 
 past few years had been practical men of affairs or 
 sports, and two little nieces who could be made entirely 
 happy by being abruptly turned upside down, or having 
 ten- cent pieces dropped down their backs to be glo 
 riously jumped out. Ruth Chantry s demands did not 
 seem much more complicated. 
 Amsden came into the O Hara drawing-room, top- 
 
 9 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 heavy with the sombre grandeur of the black- walnut- 
 and- cornice period, to find the two girls absorbed in 
 putting together a cut-out picture from a Sunday 
 paper. Christine was fond of being discovered at 
 some naive occupation. She could scarcely spare 
 attention for a nod to her guest, but Ruth frankly 
 deserted and sat beaming at Amsden, while Mr. O Hara 
 declaimed at him from the hearth-rug on the blunders 
 and stupidities of architects, and Mrs. O Hara ner 
 vously wished he wouldn t. Mrs. O Hara entertained 
 in a constant tremour lest somebody should not like 
 something that was said, and hovered about the con 
 versation of her husband and daughter much as the 
 wet-sponge deputy hovers about the Christmas tree at 
 an infant festival. Amsden smiled reassuringly at her 
 soothing interjections. 
 
 "Oh, architects are used to being attacked, Mrs. 
 O Hara," he said. "We don t mind so long as you 
 can t do without us." 
 
 "And sometimes we can that," broke in Mr. O Hara. 
 "Miss Ruth, didn t your sister do all her own archi- 
 tecting for that house of yours up by Gallop?" 
 
 "And a good deal of the building, too," said Ruth. 
 " Ellen has a passion for climbing on beams and pound 
 ing nails. She takes it all out that way." 
 
 "Takes what all out?" asked Amsden, more to see 
 her grow vivid with the ardour of explanation than in 
 curiosity for her answer. 
 
 "Oh, exuberance, you know. When other people 
 would be excited or joyous or angry all over, Ellen 
 
 10 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 seems to get it just in her right arm, and she smashes 
 it all down into a nail without moving a muscle any 
 where else." The shine that had haunted Amsden 
 all day was already in her face. " Ellen never goes to 
 pieces over things, you know. I think she is made 
 of one solid piece, while I am a million little 
 blocks." 
 
 "Put together with very bad mucilage," added Chris 
 tine, whose absorption in her cut-out picture had died 
 for lack of notice. 
 
 "Put together with fire and dew," thought Amsden 
 with an inexplicable impulse of pity. 
 
 "Well, Ellen Chantry is a fine girl," declared Mr. 
 O Hara. "I ll not say I d be wanting a lady doctor 
 about me " Mrs. O Hara looked hasty apology at 
 Ruth "but it s a fine sight to see a woman with 
 brains who doesn t spend her whole time over trash 
 and parties, like Christine here. Well, Mr. Wallace, 
 we are glad to see you, heartily glad; we re all getting 
 savage with hunger." 
 
 "Indeed, Mr. Wallace, dinner has only just been 
 announced," urged poor Mrs. O Hara. 
 
 Mr. Wallace, a kindly young man of the fat-boy 
 order, who was always called on when one more man 
 was needed, and who always came, laughed his apol 
 ogies and took his place happily by Christine, whom 
 he considered "a great old sport." The two kept the 
 talk in their hands during dinner, and Amsden, who 
 had no personal misadventures to relate and little love 
 of "guying," would have found it unrelievedly dull if 
 
 ii 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Ruth Chantry, beside him, had not been so exquisitely 
 happy. She laughed till her eyes were little hazel slits 
 of light, giving herself up whole-heartedly to the gaiety 
 of the hour, yet without once slipping into silliness. 
 Her spirit infected them all. 
 
 When Mrs. O Hara rose, Ruth clung to the sides of 
 her chair and looked pleadingly at her host. 
 
 "Oh, don t make us go off alone while you smoke!" 
 she begged. " Just think, this is my last night. Please 
 let me stay!" They laughed at her earnestness and 
 settled back in their chairs. 
 
 "That you shall, my dear!" Mr. O Hara patted 
 her hand. "And why shouldn t you stay another 
 week with us?" 
 
 Ruth shook her head. "If you knew the struggle 
 I had to get this week! And it does make it hard for 
 Ellen," she added conscientiously. "Ying won t 
 answer the telephone, so there is no one to take mes 
 sages when she is off. And as Ellen is the only doctor 
 in or near Gallop who is always sober " She broke 
 off to smile at the general laugh. 
 
 "You re a good girl," commented Mr. O Hara. 
 
 "Well, Christine is coming up to spend August; I 
 have that ahead," said Ruth contentedly. 
 
 "I am going to take my vacation in August," sug 
 gested Wallace. "Why can t I come, too? I could 
 put up somewhere near you, couldn t I?" 
 
 "Oh, Will, how perfectly lovely!" exclaimed Chris 
 tine. 
 
 "And there is Mrs. Dorn not a quarter of a mile 
 12 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 away she will make you as comfortable!" said 
 Ruth, excitedly. "Do you really mean it?" 
 
 "Certainly. Say, Amsden, why don t you come, 
 too? It s bully country, and you need a vacation, 
 don t you?" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Amsden, you must!" cried Christine. 
 He turned amusedly to Ruth. 
 
 "Shall I?" he asked, not in the least intending it. 
 It was as though the heavens opened and the glory 
 shone through. 
 
 "Oh, will you?" came breathlessly. Amsden could 
 have caught her up in his arms and laughed and cried 
 over her, she seemed to him so infinitely young and 
 pathetic. 
 
 "Of course I will!" he said quickly. 
 
Ill 
 
 THE stage was nearly empty as it wound up the last 
 mile towards Gallop. Amsden, perched on top, well 
 behind the driver, spread his arms along the back of 
 the seat and gave himself up to the sense of being 
 floated between a new heaven and a new earth, silently 
 rejoicing that a delay in his affairs had forced him to 
 make the trip alone. All about him towered the peaks 
 of the Sierra, cutting sharply into the pool of thin gold 
 left by the sunset. From the mouths of darkly green 
 canons came breaths of clean, primeval night and the 
 sounds of running water, and down every slope drifted 
 the fragrance of sun-steeped pines, not crowded to 
 gether in the blurred mass of forests, but standing apart 
 in solitary dignity, each lifting to the sky its separate 
 effort of symmetry and grace. The evening cool 
 deepened, pouring deliciously over his hands and face 
 as a great star splashed out just above the northern 
 peaks. Amsden, his head thrown back, was so merged 
 in the greatness of the earth that his individual life 
 was a forgotten triviality. His spirit seemed to rise 
 and hover above an oblivious body, the city and the 
 quest of success were as remote as his childhood. He 
 had not taken a vacation for three years, and had 
 
 14 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 almost reached the dangerous point of not desiring 
 one: the revulsion from city limitations left him buoy 
 ant, as though he had just escaped some bodily danger. 
 The night was like a purifying river rushing through 
 him. So deep was his absorption that he did not notice 
 the stopping of the stage, and felt a shock of disap 
 pointment, childish in its intensity, as he realized that 
 someone had mounted to the seat beside him. He 
 moved over, not taking his eyes from the miracle over 
 head; but the enchantment was broken, and he was, 
 after all, only a tired traveller on top of a stage-coach. 
 He straightened up with a stretch and a sigh, and 
 looked at his companion, a man of lean middle-age, 
 with grey hair floating above his coat collar, humor 
 ously plain, but with something likeable in his eccentric 
 features, palely freckled, and in the grave friendliness 
 of the little nondescript eyes. Amsden felt a primitive 
 desire to have this man like him. 
 
 "Nice night, isn t it?" he said, as their glance met. 
 The man considered a moment. 
 
 "Well, yes, sir, I reckon it s a nice night down here 
 on top of a comfortable stage-coach, with nothing to 
 make trouble," he said, a faint southern cadence giving 
 his voice an unexpected warmth. "Up there where 
 I ve been," he dipped his head towards the slope they 
 were leaving, "it ain t so nice. I ve been burying a 
 child little girl of five. Her folks waited thirteen 
 years for her, and they won t get another. Pretty 
 rough!" He passed his hand heavily over his fore 
 head and eyes, then turned to Amsden with subdued 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 intensity. "I m a preacher, after a fashion, but I 
 don t know any comfort that takes hold in an hour 
 like this. Do you?" 
 
 "No," said Amsden, with a startled sense that life 
 up here might be as near and naked as the great blazing 
 stars that seemed to hang close above their heads. 
 
 "Pretty soon they ll see that it was the Lord s will, 
 and not anyone s fault," the man went on, staring 
 absently before him. "But just now " he broke off 
 with a quick sigh. "Life in the mountains is all like 
 that, somehow. Trouble never gets very far off. 
 Why don t more people come and try to help?" 
 
 The thought of Ruth Chantry, whose girlhood was 
 being sacrificed to her sister s missionary impulse, 
 checked Amsden s rising sympathy. 
 
 "Most people have obligations somewhere else," 
 he said slowly. "The first debt is to the happiness of 
 our own people. One has no right to sacrifice a mother 
 or a sister not to a thousand mountaineers." 
 
 The man turned to him eagerly. "Not if the mother 
 or the sister is worth more to the world that s right, 
 sir. You ve got to get off and look at these things 
 from a distance. Where s the biggest value? You 
 decide that the best way you can, and then go ahead. 
 Your mother might be worth more to humanity than 
 all the women in the Sierras put together: then you 
 stick by her life and minister to it as long as you live. 
 That s your job." 
 
 "But suppose the value were not to humanity, but 
 to her and to me and to one or two others," Amsden 
 
 16 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 was beginning in vigorous protest when a shout and a 
 waving hat from the road brought the stage to a creak 
 ing halt. 
 
 "Hello!" called the boyish voice of Will Wallace 
 from the dimness. "Stand and deliver! You up 
 there, Amsden?" 
 
 " Hello !" Amsden rose, kicking a stiff knee. 
 "How are you, Wallace? Is this where I get down?" 
 
 "Yes. Leave your luggage. Say, driver, put his 
 bag off at Mrs. Dorn s gate, will you? They will be 
 watching for it. You are to come up to the cabin for 
 supper," he added, as Amsden dropped in the road 
 beside him. " Bet you re ready for it. Hold up till I 
 light this lantern: you ll need it if you don t know the 
 trail. I lost five square feet of skin before I got over 
 being a tenderfoot." Amsden laughed, feeling sud 
 denly very jovial and human, and accepted the lantern. 
 As the stage lumbered off, he waved to the solitary 
 figure on top. 
 
 "Good-night! See you again, I hope," he called. 
 
 "Good-night, sir. I hope so," came the hearty 
 answer. 
 
 Wallace led the way up a winding trail, free from 
 underbrush, but made treacherous by smooth slabs 
 and jutting ledges of rock. Absolute night seemed to 
 have shut down about them since the lighting of the 
 lantern. Wallace showed an astonishing nimbleness. 
 
 "The dark here is of the best quality black velvet; 
 none of your flimsy, semi-transparent stuffs," he ex 
 plained. "It s a great old place bully. You ll like 
 
 17 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 it. You want to get in the good graces of Ying, first 
 thing you do; then you re all right. Can t he 
 cook!" 
 
 "But surely those two girls don t live here alone 
 with a Chinaman?" Amsden asked. 
 
 "Oh, Ying brought em up. He has been in the 
 family thirty years beats any guardian angel you 
 ever saw for devotion and chaperonage." Wallace 
 chuckled at some recollection. "Besides, Ellen Chan 
 try would be equal to six Chinamen," he added. 
 " She s off most of the time, doctoring and you won t 
 be so awful sorry." 
 
 "Why?" Amsden was becoming decidedly curious 
 about Mrs. Roderick. 
 
 "Oh, I can hit it off with her all right. (Look out 
 for this rock here it has got some of my left shin on 
 it yet.) Ellen s a nice, quiet, sensible sort of girl, so 
 far as I can see. But she shuts the others up, somehow. 
 We never get really howling when she s around, don t 
 you know? And then it is pretty mean, the way she 
 keeps Ruth glued up here summer and winter. I 
 guess she s sort of selfish. There, see that light up 
 ahead, to the right? That s the cabin. Bet you re 
 glad." And he lifted a shrill "Whoo-oo!" that went 
 echoing off among the canons. A door opened, show 
 ing a glowing square of light, and a feminine "Whoo- 
 oo!" answered. A few minutes later Amsden stood 
 blinking in the doorway of a big, low-ceilinged room, 
 rosy with firelight, and Ruth Chantry was welcoming 
 him as a prisoner might welcome deliverance. 
 
 18 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "You did come, after all! And I have worried 
 about it day and night," she cried. 
 
 "But of course I came," he said in unmistakable 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Any tired traveller must have felt the charm of the 
 place. Evidently this was literally a living-room, for 
 at one end stood a supper table, across a corner hung 
 a hammock piled with red cushions, low bookcases full 
 of pleasantly worn volumes lined the wall on either 
 side of the arched fireplace, and against the opposite 
 wall a staircase mounted to the rooms above. The 
 walls were of redwood, set in wide panels and wholly 
 free from ornament except for brass sconces holding 
 candles; the chimney looked a rough pile of rounded 
 and irregular stones, the rugs were skins of animals. 
 Christine O Hara, with a blue-checked apron over her 
 white dress and the firelight making a halo of her 
 light red curls, was setting the table with a busy-house 
 wife air, too domestic and important to give more 
 than a passing handshake to the newcomer, though 
 her energy flagged visibly when Wallace led him off 
 down a porch and through a side door and offered 
 him the freedom of a civilized bath tub. 
 
 "Better grab your chance," he suggested. "At 
 Mrs. Dorn s you ll have to wash in a doll s tea-set. 
 We won t have supper till Ellen gets in, anyway." 
 
 Amsden accepted the offer gratefully, and twenty 
 minutes later came out with renewed self-respect, 
 pausing on the porch for a deep breath of the sharp, 
 aromatic night. A sound of hoofs drew his eyes to 
 
 19 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 the road that passed beneath him to a rough outbuild 
 ing. As his sight adjusted to the dark, he saw a tired 
 horse with drooping head and a rider who sat with 
 hanging reins, her face hidden under a felt brim, but 
 her whole attitude showing abstraction. The horse 
 paused at the shed door, but she did not dismount 
 until a reproachful whinney roused her. Then she 
 swung herself down from her masculine saddle, patting 
 his neck as though in apology, and called: 
 
 "Ying!" A wire door somewhere in the rear 
 creaked open. 
 
 " APlight! You put him inside I come plesently," 
 answered a voice in the imperative accents of Ameri 
 canized China. "You hurly up now supper all get 
 spoiled." 
 
 Woman and horse vanished obediently into the shed 
 and Amsden turned to the living-room. 
 
 "Evidently that is the superior Ellen," was his 
 comment. 
 
 Christine had told him what the world knew about 
 Ellen. She had perhaps good right to be unlike 
 others. Nine years before she had stood at a window 
 and seen her husband instantly killed by a car. Her 
 child had been born in the hour of his funeral, its own 
 tiny funeral following a week later. When it was 
 time for Ellen to emerge again, people found that she 
 had no intention of emerging, but was wholly absorbed 
 in studying medicine. It was natural that such an 
 experience had left her a little queer, and they were 
 glad that the poor girl had something to take her 
 
 20 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 thoughts. When she began to practise, they even sent 
 for her to attend their prote ge s or their maids and 
 were a little shocked that she came in blue serge 
 rather than in the permissible black and white. But 
 the maids and the prote ge s flourished, and the profes 
 sion began to take Dr. Roderick so seriously that even 
 her old friends were impressed. She seemed actually 
 about to achieve a career when Ruth s serious illness 
 made a trip to the mountains advisable. There she 
 had taken up work among the mountaineers, and had 
 become so absorbed in it that she could not be dragged 
 back to civilization even for a day. 
 
 "At least, Ruth believes that is why she stays," 
 Christine added. "I am not so sure! There is some 
 thing queer about it." 
 
 Ruth, poor girl, starving for young life, was forced 
 to stay on there year after year. Christine had visited 
 her every summer, but when a return visit was sug 
 gested, Ellen always found means to prevent it, not 
 caring, doubtless, to be left up there alone. Of course 
 Ellen did a great deal of good outside her home. 
 
 "Missionaries never do consider their families," 
 Christine ended indignantly. "Someone ought to 
 interfere. Ruth can t do it herself because oh, well, 
 if you knew Ellen! But someone ought to." 
 
 And Amsden quite agreed that someone ought. It 
 was nothing to him personally; he was simply moved 
 by the abstract principle that anyone who could be 
 made happy as easily as Ruth Chantry, should be 
 made happy. 
 
 21 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Mrs. Roderick was something of a surprise when 
 she came into the living-room a little later. Her thin, 
 white gown was of an antiquated simplicity, but there 
 was about it, or her, a distinction that all Christine s 
 insertion and embroidery could not achieve. Her hair 
 had the blond shininess of stubble in the sun. parting 
 smooth and straight over a wide, sunburned forehead 
 and serene grey eyes; nose and chin were roughly 
 modelled, but the mouth had been exquisitely and 
 delicately finished, and the lips rested together without 
 a tremour of self-consciousness or a pinch of self-con 
 cealment. She was not large, but a splendid Saxon 
 strength showed in her shoulders and arms and throat. 
 It occurred to Amsden as she came towards him that 
 she would have made a magnificent figurehead for a 
 Viking ship. 
 
 But it is a heavy face, beside Ruth s," he decided 
 instantly. 
 
 Her welcome was courteous but not especially cor 
 dial: not cordial at all, he decided presently, finding 
 her eyes fixed on him unsmilingly as he looked up 
 laughing from some naivete* of Ruth s. He felt that 
 he was being "lumped," as he expressed it, with Wal 
 lace and Christine O Hara, and coolly resolved that if 
 Ellen had not discernment to recognize the difference, 
 he would not help her out. The others had never 
 known him "so nice and jolly" as he was at that first 
 supper. Yet what Wallace had said was true: Ellen 
 Chantry s presence spread an impalpable constraint. 
 Christine laughed artificially, was defiant in her little 
 
 22 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 arts and graces, over-pouting and over-gleeful. Ruth s 
 gaiety was robbed of its shine, and Amsden, feeling a 
 subdued apprehension in her, realized that she was 
 instinctively trying to act as a screen between her 
 friends and her sister s judgment. The dimming of 
 her spirits angered him. What right had this calm, 
 blond woman to dominate a tableful of independent 
 beings! He devoted himself exclusively to Ruth until 
 the light was relit. 
 
 If Ellen depressed them, it was quite evident that 
 something depressed her. She took part very simply 
 and pleasantly, it must be admitted when she had 
 to, but seemed relieved when they left her to eat her 
 supper in peace. It was an exceedingly good supper. 
 Wallace watched Ying bear away the empty dishes 
 with a sigh of contentment. 
 
 "I wish Ying could give Mrs. Dorn a lesson or two 
 in cooking," he said. "She means awfully well 
 but when she fries chops, she fries them for keeps : you 
 could shingle the roof with them. And I m sure 
 she makes her hot cakes out of Rory s saddle 
 blankets." 
 
 "Rory?" queried Amsden. 
 
 "Yes, Rory Dorn: her mother named her Aurora," 
 Wallace explained. "She thought it went so lovely 
 with Dorn." 
 
 "She breaks horses for her living," Ruth added. 
 "She is great fun, the only real companion I have up 
 here." 
 
 "I met a strange character on the stage to-night," 
 
 2 3 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 said Amsden, "a preacher of some sort: queer, lanky 
 chap, but very likeable." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Gilfillan;" Ellen turned to him with real 
 interest. "He is a fine man. I don t know what I 
 should have done without him this past year." Chris 
 tine O Hara had looked up with compressed lips. 
 
 "I hope to see him again," Amsden went on. "We 
 had begun an interesting discussion the rights of the 
 missionary spirit over family obligations. We did not 
 agree in the least, but I liked him." His tone was 
 wholly without personal intention, and his eyes met 
 Ellen s with no faintest acknowledgment of a coming 
 struggle. Yet his heart had a quickened beat as he 
 dropped sugar in his coffee. 
 
 "Well, I think one s family ought to count before 
 everything," Christine began defiantly, but lost courage 
 in the ensuing pause and jumped up. "I have sworn 
 off on coffee," she exclaimed. "Let s have some 
 music." She opened the piano, and began to play 
 with dashing inaccuracy. Catching Ruth s eye, she 
 signalled her to follow, and under cover of a rattling 
 march, demanded: 
 
 "Who is this Mr. Gilfillan?" 
 
 " Oh, a broken-down minister Methodist or Bap 
 tist, or some such queer kind. He came to Gallop for 
 his health last fall, and now he is as daffy about the 
 mountain people as Ellen is. He saves their souls or 
 mends their roofs, just as it happens. He takes it very 
 seriously, you know comes up to consult with 
 Ellen about twice a day." 
 
 24 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Christine looked skeptical. " Perhaps they re in 
 love," she suggested. 
 
 "Chris- tine! He says ain t and tasty/ and he 
 wears a beard a little beard under his chin!" 
 
 "Oh!" It was a note of apology, but Christine s 
 eyes were still speculative. 
 
 "How old a man is he?" she asked presently. 
 
 "I don t know forty, fifty;" Ruth s tone was 
 thoroughly indifferent. 
 
 "Well, I should like to know why she stays, just the 
 same," said Christine, as Wallace joined them, leaving 
 Amsden alone at the table with Ellen Chantry. 
 
 "Don t wait for me. I always linger over my 
 coffee," she said with calm and courteous indifference. 
 Amsden felt a flash of resentment. Why should she 
 assume that he had nothing whatever to give her? 
 Was it because he came as Ruth s friend? Oh, she 
 was superior, abominably so. He had no feeling on 
 his own account, knowing that he could prove his 
 value if he cared to; his resentment was all for the 
 slight to Ruth dear, fine and sensitive spirit, whom 
 this woman of coarser fibre could not possibly appre 
 ciate. Some of the ancient stubbornness of his New 
 England forebears showed in his grave and scholarly 
 face as he settled more firmly in his chair. To Ruth 
 Chantry, over by the piano, a sense of his strength 
 came at that minute like a shock of pain. She could 
 have fallen on her knees by his chair, crying out, " Be 
 kind to me! Never be angry with me!" His eye 
 glasses, the firmly shut, reserved mouth, the lines of 
 
 2 5 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 his coat on his lean, muscular shoulders, were suddenly 
 become precious, endowed with an appeal no one could 
 miss. She glanced with quick jealousy at Ellen, but 
 was reassured by her evident absorption in her coffee 
 and her thoughts. 
 
 Amsden presently broke in on this absorption. 
 
 "It has been a great pleasure to know your sister, 
 Mrs. Roderick," he said in the tone of 6ne who expects 
 cordial assent. "She is a very unusual girl." There 
 was a hint of surprise in Ellen s face, quickly banished. 
 
 "I think she is a very pretty girl," she said assent- 
 ingly. 
 
 "She is so alive, so joyous," he went on. "Most of 
 us have the spirit civilized out of us there is some 
 thing primeval in her capacity for happiness. It 
 makes one long to give her everything she wants." 
 
 "That is scarcely the way to keep people happy, is 
 it?" Ellen asked after a slight pause. 
 
 " Oh, life denies us so much; I don t believe we need 
 to deny and discipline each other especially, do you?" 
 
 "I suppose we are sometimes the instruments through 
 which life does its disciplining, the whip with which it 
 beats its victim," she suggested, a hint of resentment 
 in her voice, to Amsden s secret satisfaction. 
 
 "Isn t that rather a dangerous doctrine?" he asked. 
 "It would be a selfish person s excuse for riding over 
 another, wouldn t it?" 
 
 "Possibly if you take it that way," she answered, 
 with a faint shrug. "General doctrines have to be 
 fitted to the weakest link in the chain; but the stronger 
 
 26 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 can have their mental reservations, I suppose we 
 can trust ourselves with dangerous creeds." 
 
 "Yes, if we are willing and able to justify them. 
 When we are a law unto ourselves, we lay ourselves 
 open to challenge." Amsden looked squarely into her 
 eyes. "Don t you agree with me?" 
 
 Her serene face was impenetrable. "No, I don t 
 think I do," she said. "The challenge would have to 
 come from a very high authority before I, for one, 
 would" 
 
 "Ellen! Don t you hear the telephone?" Ruth s 
 voice broke in impatiently, to Amsden s disappoint 
 ment. He was keenly enjoying the encounter. Mrs. 
 Roderick left the room and her voice could be heard 
 through the door, direct and business-like. In a few 
 moments she came back to say good-night. 
 
 "I am called out," she explained. 
 
 "Oh, don t go," said Wallace, good-naturedly. 
 "Say you have a patient here and can t leave." 
 Amsden had risen. 
 
 " It is so very dark isn t there some way in which 
 I can go with you ?" he asked, honestly concerned. 
 
 "Oh, I am used to it," she said indifferently. Her 
 fingers were already at her belt buckle as she left the 
 room. 
 
 "Ellen really likes going about; she would rather do 
 that than be frivolous with us," Ruth assured him. 
 "Besides, she is blue to-night. She has just lost a 
 patient, some child she was treating; that always 
 upsets her." 
 
 27 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Presently they heard the bang of the barn door and 
 a horse s tread under the window. Christine O Hara 
 sprang up from the piano stool. 
 
 "Now let s have some fun," she exclaimed. 
 
 28 
 
IV 
 
 RUTH came down the stairs the next morning sing 
 ing, though the song stopped when she saw Ellen at 
 the breakfast table below. Ellen looked up pleasantly. 
 
 "Did you sleep?" she asked with a keen glance at 
 her sister s face. 
 
 "Of course. Why not?" 
 
 "I didn t know but that so much company would 
 be too stimulating," said Ellen, pacifically, pouring out 
 her coffee. 
 
 "I am not so childishly excitable as you always 
 seem to think;" Ruth spoke evenly, without open 
 resentment. "I enjoy my friends, of course; anyone 
 would whose life was completely cut off from them." 
 
 "Especially a person like you, whose friends are so 
 very fond of her," assented Ellen. "Would Christine 
 like her breakfast in bed?" 
 
 Ruth unbent a little. "Oh, no; she is dressing. 
 What did you think of Mr. Amsden?" she added, a 
 trifle defiantly. Ellen hesitated. 
 
 "Why, he seemed to me an interesting person 
 ality," she said. "He has a certain distinction; I 
 don t know whether it is his mind or his nice, clean-cut 
 features. He is clever, isn t he?" 
 
 29 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Very; and one of the best architects in the city. 
 He is very good family, too." 
 
 "Yes, I think one feels that," Ellen admitted. "Is 
 he perhaps a little conceited ?" Ruth s face clouded 
 instantly. 
 
 "I am sure I have not found him so. But then I 
 am not especially discerning I am glad to say." 
 
 Ellen looked discouraged. "Well, you know him 
 better than I," she apologized, rising. "It was only 
 an impression. I will tell Ying to make a fresh ome 
 lette for Christine." 
 
 Ruth, left alone, stared unseeingly at the morning 
 beauty outside. 
 
 "She is always in the right, and always patient and 
 magnanimous and I am always nasty," she mut 
 tered. "Oh, I hate living with her, I want to go!" 
 There were tears in her eyes, but she blinked them 
 away as Ellen came back. The latter wore a khaki 
 skirt that could be adapted to cross-saddle riding by 
 unfastening a row of buttons, and she had put on a 
 loose khaki coat over her white shirt-waist. There 
 was power, a rough beauty even, in her very lack of 
 grace as she stood pinning a felt campaign hat over 
 the smooth straw-shine of her heavy hair. Ruth, 
 conscious of it, felt a pang of apprehension as she saw 
 two masculine figures coming up the trail. Anyone 
 must see that Ellen was wonderful oh, why couldn t 
 the woman go, if she was going, and not stand there 
 like an embodiment of vigour and simplicity, beside 
 which others must inevitably shrink to triviality! 
 
 30 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Go, go, go," beat through her thoughts as she 
 leaned back impassively, helpless before the laws of 
 civilized demeanour. 
 
 "I have not much to do this morning," said the 
 unconscious Ellen. "I shall be back early. You 
 needn t bother about the telephone; I doubt if any 
 body rings up." 
 
 "We are all going for a walk;" Ruth s tone showed 
 that she had had no intention of bothering about the 
 telephone. The men were mounting steadily. Ellen 
 turned to go, then came back. 
 
 "Do be a little careful, Ruth," she urged. "You 
 know how done up you were when you came back from 
 the city. I want you to be out of doors all you can, 
 but do take it easy. Remember that you have always 
 had more spirit than strength." 
 
 "Very well, I will;" anything to get rid of her. 
 Ellen went to the door, then paused. 
 
 "They are coming now, your visitors," she said. 
 "I think I had better wait and say good-morning to 
 them." Ruth made no answer. It seemed to Amsden, 
 as he came in, that her smile had a tremulous quality. 
 
 "Poor little soul, always way up or way down," 
 he thought. Ellen s vigorous calm seemed unfeeling, 
 by contrast. Ruth, conscious of approval, expanded 
 happily, though she was dimly aware that the danger 
 was only put off. 
 
 "He has not discovered her yet," would have been 
 her thought if she had stopped to analyze. She felt a 
 glow of satisfaction that both men, after speaking to 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Ellen, came and dropped down by her, and was mag 
 nanimous enough to keep her eyes from her sister, lest 
 she should seem to triumph. The latter bore her 
 humiliation with stoic cheerfulness, and even followed 
 them across, a thing Ruth could never have done. 
 She made the coffee pot her excuse, touching it experi 
 mentally with her palm. 
 
 "It couldn t be hotter," she said. "Won t you have 
 a cup ? I am sure Mrs. Dorn s coffee isn t as good as 
 Ying s." They accepted gratefully. 
 
 "Mrs. Dorn s coffee is no rich, brown, nourishing 
 drink," said Wallace, with a sigh. "It is an evil black, 
 and so strong it tips the cup over if you aren t careful. 
 She told me that she paid fifteen cents a pound for it, 
 and that it had a lot more flavour than coffee that cost 
 twice as much. She s dead right it has." 
 
 "Perhaps she concentrates on it too hard," Ruth 
 suggested. "You know she is a psychic? When 
 Rory s horses are too unruly, she sits at the window 
 and concentrates on them and then Rory always 
 conquers." 
 
 "That s a mother s tender care with modern improve 
 ments," said Wallace. 
 
 "Her grandmother would have sat at the window and 
 prayed," Amsden added. Ellen turned to him in 
 terestedly. 
 
 "Which method should you prefer?" 
 
 "I think I should back Rory s young muscles and 
 lower jaw. I saw them both at work this morning." 
 
 "At breakfast?" queried Ruth. 
 3 2 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Oh, we breakfast by ourselves," put in Wallace. 
 "We get coffee and mush, then, fifteen minutes later, 
 the cream and sugar come with the meat, and when 
 everything else is eaten, we get petrified slabs of toast. 
 Rory hovers about and soothes us as she would a skit 
 tish horse. She patted my neck yesterday honestly." 
 
 "What did you do?" asked Ruth. 
 
 "I d hate to tell you. Hello, Ying. Did you make 
 that omelette for me?" Ying grinned. 
 
 "Maybe Miss Clistine let you have it," he suggested, 
 putting a tiny and perfect omelette at Christine s 
 place. 
 
 "No, she won t!" called the latter s voice from the 
 stairs, and Christine came rushing down in farcical 
 alarm. Ellen rose. 
 
 "I must be off," she announced. 
 
 "Why not come for a walk with us?" asked the 
 kindly Wallace. Ellen hesitated with a glance to 
 wards Ruth; but her eyes were averted, her lips com 
 pressed in a disapproving line. 
 
 "No, I must not cut work this morning, I am afraid," 
 said Ellen. A few moments later Amsden saw her 
 ride below the window, and it occurred to him that her 
 serene face was sad when she was alone. He stared 
 after her, wondering how far she had outgrown that 
 tragedy of nine years ago. 
 
 "Mr. Amsden has scarcely said a word this morn 
 ing," declared Ruth, a shade of impatience in her 
 voice. "Is he one of those silent-till-noon per 
 sons?" 
 
 33 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 " He s a queer sort of a duck. I don t make him out 
 so very well," said Wallace. 
 
 "Oh, I read him like a book," Christine asserted. 
 "What puzzles you?" 
 
 Wallace considered, Amsden looking on in amused 
 gravity. 
 
 "Well, when you see him from across the room, he 
 looks sort of stuck-up; but when you go over to punch 
 him for it, you find he s a darned nice chap, nothing 
 lofty about him. You go off pleased and friendly, 
 and then, next time you glance across, hanged if he 
 doesn t look just as stuck-up as ever!" 
 
 Ruth had never seen Amsden laugh so thoroughly; 
 but he said nothing. 
 
 "What you see is just his glasses and his cameo 
 profile, and a sort of New England repression about 
 him," Christine explained. "All you have to do is to 
 stay on the same side of the room with him. That 
 wouldn t be so hard!" she added with a glance of 
 mock coyness at Amsden. 
 
 "Wow, Christine!" exclaimed Wallace. "If you hit 
 me with a glance like that, I d never be the same man 
 again." 
 
 "Well, that might not be a bad thing," Christine 
 returned, a species of repartee that gave Wallace un 
 bounded delight. 
 
 The morning was half gone before they started, 
 pausing first on the porch before a view that silenced 
 even Wallace for a moment. The cabin clung to a 
 comparatively open hillside, the mighty tents of the 
 
 34 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Sierra towering about them like a giant encampment, 
 encircling a gentle stretch of vivid green meadow far 
 below. To the south, at the mouth of a winding 
 canon, lay the town of Gallop, started by miners, but 
 long ago handed over to lumbermen and stock-raisers. 
 A trail dropped abruptly from the cabin to the stage 
 road beneath, while a rough road wound down more 
 gradually towards the town, half a mile away. On the 
 distant slopes sharp eyes could see occasional signs of 
 human habitation, the brown dot of a cabin or a curl 
 of smoke. 
 
 " Oh, but it must be lonely here in winter," Amsden 
 exclaimed, thinking only of those distant dots. Ruth 
 turned to him hotly. 
 
 You don t know, you have no conception there 
 is no such loneliness in the world!" she said in a low 
 tone. The other two had gone on ahead. 
 "Why don t you just walk out of it?" 
 "What could I do? I have no other home." 
 "Aren t theO Haras always begging for a long visit ?" 
 "Yes, but " she hesitated, then spoke impetu 
 ously, "don t you see that that takes clothes? I 
 couldn t lead their life in denim and flannel. And I 
 have no money. Ellen knows I can t accept without 
 clothes, and she doesn t offer them to me; and I won t 
 ask her. So, you see, it is hopeless." 
 
 " It is very hard," said Amsden, thoughtfully. " Why 
 can t I give them to you?" 
 
 She laughed with suddenly restored gaiety. "Will 
 you?" 
 
 35 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Of course. I have plenty of money. How many 
 do you want?" 
 
 "Let me see: I think five gowns would do, and an 
 evening cloak, and two hats or three? Could you 
 afford three?" 
 
 "I think so. I should like a black velvet one on 
 your hair. Are they worn ? " 
 
 "Yes, always. Oh, wouldn t it be fun!" She 
 broke into a little skip. 
 
 "Why on earth shouldn t I give that child five hun 
 dred dollars, if I want to?" was Amsden s thought as 
 he followed. "It is a very stupid world." Whatever 
 Ruth s thoughts were, her hazel eyes were brimming 
 with light. 
 
 All Gallop seemed to be out on the sidewalk this 
 morning, and Amsden thought something must have 
 happened, until Ruth explained to him that this was 
 Gallop s perennial state. The main street of the little 
 town had made a sincere effort to present a civilized 
 appearance. The half story was prolonged to seem a 
 whole story by flaring sham fronts, occasional bursts 
 of yellow or pea-green paint vied with whitewash and 
 blackening pine, and electric lights of intermittent 
 habits lighted the streets by night. Close by ran the 
 swift flood of Juniper Creek, the logs bobbing at its 
 edges offering ceaseless temptation to boys and terror 
 to mothers. In the soft dust of the road dogs curled in 
 placid sleep, occasionally dragging themselves resent 
 fully out of the way of some unaccommodating cart. 
 Mountain horses nibbled restlessly at the hitching- 
 
 36 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 posts while their masters joined the sidewalk 
 discussion. 
 
 It seemed to Amsden that the rough groups fell into 
 silence at their approach, and that the silence was not 
 a friendly one; once he caught a flash of open hostility 
 in the eyes of a woman who turned to stare at them. 
 Ruth was entirely unconcerned, and he tried to think 
 it merely the natural animosity of the free-born Amer 
 ican towards his "betters" he used the word in 
 quotation marks, even in his most secret thoughts. 
 He would have liked nothing better than to get on 
 friendly terms with these hulking mountaineers, clank 
 ing their spurs in and out of the general store. While 
 Christine and Ruth were buying striped candy and 
 weighing each other, he paused beside a man who was, 
 oddly enough, buying some coarse black material not 
 unlike crape. The gloomy, handsome face under a 
 shock of black hair appealed to him. 
 
 "This is a busy town you have here," he said, lean 
 ing against the counter. "About how many inhabi 
 tants are there?" 
 
 The man looked at him, turned back and counted 
 his change, sliding it deliberately into a pocket, took 
 up the parcel, gave him another cool look and walked 
 away. A boy lounging near grinned. Amsden felt 
 the colour rise as it had not in ten years, and he started 
 impetuously after the man. 
 
 "Say, better let him alone," interposed the boy, 
 with an emphasis that made Amsden pause. "That s 
 the father." 
 
 37 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "The father? What father?" he asked sharply. 
 
 "It s Ned Spaulding," explained the boy, as though 
 that ought to enlighten anybody. 
 
 Christine came fluttering across, a stick of candy in 
 each hand. 
 
 "What is it? What is it? Me see, too. Is any 
 thing happening?" 
 
 "Nothing, whatever," said Amsden, shortly. "Let s 
 get out of this," he added. "Can t we go into the 
 woods somewhere?" 
 
 Ruth would have left the town at once, but Christine 
 insisted on exploring the hardware shop, and was with 
 difficulty kept out of the "hotel." It seemed to 
 Amsden that they were meeting hostility on every 
 side in glances and small rudenesses the blocking 
 of the sidewalk, curt answers to pleasant greetings; 
 but the others noticed nothing, and he tried to argue 
 down the impression as the effect of his own recent 
 snub. 
 
 "What father? What did he mean?" he still 
 wondered. Ruth s voice demanded his attention. 
 
 "Look, there s the new doctor, Dr. Pocock," she 
 said, nodding to a sign. "Did you know that Ellen 
 has a rival?" 
 
 "I hope he gets all her patients away so that she has 
 to go back to the city," said Christine, joyfully, then 
 clapped spread fingers over a scared mouth as a turn 
 of the road disclosed Ellen. 
 
 She was standing beside her horse, deep in conver 
 sation with a lean, middle-aged man whose floating 
 
 38 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 grey hair and pale freckles identified him as Amsden s 
 friend of the stage-coach. She seemed to be holding 
 forth on some subject, and now and then her 
 clenched hand came down sharply on the saddle. 
 Mr. Gilfillan was listening with bent head, nodding 
 gently at intervals. Ellen glanced at them unseeingly 
 and paid no attention to their greetings. 
 
 "Well, how is that for a cut!" exclaimed Wallace 
 as they passed on. Christine O Hara narrowed her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Mr. Gilfillan seems to be an absorbing person," 
 she said with a small laugh. 
 
 Amsden glanced back curiously. A single vehement 
 sentence had reached him: "I won t have Ned Spauld- 
 ing think I am afraid ! " Obviously this man Spaulding 
 was making trouble in the town of Gallop. 
 
 39 
 
ELLEN S morning had been a strange one, with the 
 baffling quality of a bad dream. The first manifesta 
 tion had brought only amusement. Two little girls, 
 who usually beamed shyly at her greeting, and who 
 had been known to watch for her passing with hot, 
 tight handfuls of drooping wild flowers, met her cheer 
 ful " Hello!" with a stiff mutter, their eyes lowered, 
 their lips primly set. They seemed to draw their 
 little bodies up and away from her, making a wide 
 circuit into the grass by the road. The full realization 
 of all this did not come to Ellen until she had passed, 
 when she turned in her saddle to look back. They 
 were staring after her, hand in hand, but at her friendly 
 wave they wheeled without response and ran down 
 the road. 
 
 "What has struck them? Is it a game?" Ellen 
 wondered. 
 
 Her first visit was to the blacksmith, a difficult 
 patient, who in the intervals of his groanings insisted 
 on having in his neighbours for entertainment not 
 the best regimen for rheumatic fever. His wisp of a 
 wife seemed more nervous and deprecating than usual 
 
 40 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 this morning, though there were no visitors to be 
 hustled out. 
 
 "He s so well, dear you ll hardly need to be 
 coming much more," she stumbled, opening the sick 
 room door. 
 
 Ellen, after studying her patient, had her own views 
 on this subject. She frowned over unexpected develop 
 ments. 
 
 "What have you been doing to yourself?" she 
 demanded. The gentle obstinacy of her patient s face 
 gave no prospect of explanations and his wife was 
 suddenly moved to ransack the closet. Ellen s glance 
 happened to fall on a strange bottle lurking behind a 
 newspaper. Her frown deepened as she picked it up. 
 
 "How does this come to be here? I have not 
 prescribed it." Her tone was imperative, and Mrs. 
 Larsen backed reluctantly from the closet floor, rising 
 slowly from her heels. 
 
 "Well, you see, dear, the other doctor was doing 
 such wonders, we thought we d have him just take a 
 look, as you might say. Two heads is sometimes 
 better than one," she explained soothingly. "And he 
 seemed to think that bottle would help the poor man. 
 You wouldn t have me deny him any chanst of easing 
 the pain, dear you wouldn t, now. It s done him a 
 power of good." 
 
 Ellen stood staring at the bottle with compressed 
 lips until the silence grew rather awful; then she put it 
 down and spoke gently, with clearing forehead. 
 
 "Come into the other room and we will talk it 
 41 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 over," she said reasonably. She seated herself and 
 made the other sit down while she talked with simple 
 directness. 
 
 "Now you know I can t go on with the case if you 
 don t trust me," she ended. "If you give foolish and 
 harmful medicines when my back is turned, don t you 
 see how you undo my work?" 
 
 The woman burst into weak tears. " It s him, dear," 
 she sobbed. "He will have the new doctor, and I 
 can t refuse him. You ve been awful good to us, dear, 
 and and he might have been far worse without you. 
 I keep telling him that. But he says it stands to reason 
 that a man doctor knows more than a lady. Not that 
 I d ever believe a thing against you, dear. Whatever 
 happened, I d know you done your best. We all make 
 mistakes." 
 
 Ellen rose. "I will come back any time you send 
 for me," she said gravely. "Remember that. Good- 
 by." She held out her hand and the woman clasped 
 it fervently, but her face showed her relief. 
 
 "Good luck to you, dear," she said. 
 
 Ellen s mood was bitter as she mounted her horse. 
 For three years she had given her best to these people, 
 and it was no mean best. And now all her patient 
 skill availed her nothing against the flashy pretensions 
 of an utter stranger. She had met Dr. Pocock shortly 
 after his arrival several weeks before, introduced at 
 the post-office by a grinning townsman as "t other 
 doctor," and had felt instant dislike of his brisk, 
 rotund person and ever smiling face, the short, fat 
 
 42 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 hand ungloved with impetuous zeal to meet hers. He 
 was very well dressed, from the Gallop standpoint, 
 and the fact gave distinction to the brotherly equality 
 of his manner. A pleased group was clustered about 
 him when she made her escape; he had their names 
 correctly already. 
 
 Even in that brief meeting he had made her and 
 perhaps others feel that it was courtesy to a woman, 
 not respect for a colleague, that kept his bristling 
 pompadour uncovered. That he had taken over the 
 case of the blacksmith without a word to her declared 
 his professional status, in her mind. His object in 
 settling here was clear enough; there was plenty of 
 money to be made out of the lumbermen and ranchers 
 if one chose to impose on their ignorance. It was not 
 the prospect of a diminished practice that troubled 
 Ellen now, but dread of the humiliating discovery that 
 skill and devotion could be forgotten in the presence 
 of a new and plausible personality. 
 
 "Oh, well, the Larsens are silly idiots, anyway," 
 she finally dismissed the matter, turning her horse into 
 a rough wood road to his evident reluctance, for, 
 once started in that direction, there was no rest until 
 they had mounted to the solitary log cabin of the 
 Flannerys. 
 
 Tranquillity came back to Ellen as they zigzagged 
 up the wall of the canon. Now they were in dense 
 pine woods, the small, fine growth of land that has 
 once been timbered, now they paused in a clearing to 
 look down the broad expanse of the valley beyond, its 
 
 43 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 peaks, a solemn bivouac, cutting sharply into the deep 
 blue above, the smoky violet haze starting out from 
 their shadowed sides as though it might presently roll 
 forth in an active cloud. Passing from the hot sun to 
 the shade was like a plunge into cold water. Ellen 
 threw back her chest to it with a deep breath of satis 
 faction. She was sorry when a last turn brought her 
 to a dilapidated log cabin. 
 
 "How is the boy?" she asked, swinging herself down 
 at the kitchen door where Mrs. Flannery sat in an 
 appalling confusion, the special properties of kitchen, 
 laundry, and nursery piled knee deep about her as she 
 serenely rocked and read a newspaper. 
 
 "Fine as a fiddle," was the cheerful answer. "But 
 he s just dropped into a nap perhaps you d better not 
 be disturbing him? He don t sleep so awful good." 
 
 "I am afraid I shall have to," said Ellen, unsus 
 pectingly. Mrs. Flannery heaved herself out of her 
 rocker and led the way into the adjoining room, where 
 a thin little boy lay in one corner of a huge bed, wide 
 awake, and looking wistfully towards the door. Ellen 
 took the child s temperature, her hand resting on his 
 wrist. She did not look satisfied. 
 
 "Are you doing everything I told you to, Mrs. 
 Flannery?" she asked, and repeated her instructions. 
 
 "Every last thing, doctor," affirmed the mother. 
 "Sure, I d know what you say is right. I d not be 
 neglecting it." 
 
 Ellen returned to the kitchen and, rinding an inch 
 of space on the table, wrote a prescription. 
 
 44 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "I want you to have this filled right away," she said. 
 "Shall I take it down for you?" 
 
 "Oh, no, don t you bother." Mrs. Flannery took 
 the paper carefully between a perspiring thumb and 
 forefinger. "One of the boys ll be going right down. 
 They ll see to it." 
 
 Ellen repeated her directions and went away, feeling 
 vaguely dissatisfied. Even when she had mounted she 
 did not ride off, but, after a thoughtful moment, turned 
 to the kitchen door. She was just in time to see Mrs. 
 Flannery lift a lid from the stove and drop in the 
 unmistakable piece of white paper she had been 
 holding between thumb and forefinger. There was a 
 red flicker, and she replaced the lid with a satisfied nod. 
 
 Ellen backed quietly away and rode off unseen, her 
 mind a tumult of anger and pain and bewilderment. 
 Why she had not turned on Mrs. Flannery and de 
 manded an explanation she could not tell; perhaps 
 because under all her righteous indignation there was 
 a strange clutch of fright. What did it mean ? There 
 was something stronger than a rival skill at work, 
 some element of antagonism. She remembered the 
 two little girls who had suddenly rejected her friendli 
 ness that morning. What had they heard and believed ? 
 She rode slowly down again, too troubled to notice the 
 beauties of the way. 
 
 Her next visit led her to a white house on the out 
 skirts of the town, a prim little place with a New Eng 
 land flavour about it, incongruous and even pathetic 
 in contrast with the loose carelessness of its neighbours. 
 
 45 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Ellen dismounted with a sense of relief, feeling that 
 here at least the adverse influence must have failed, 
 since Miss Finch had summoned her only the night 
 before. Mr. Finch was overseer of a distant mine, 
 and he had established cached, he called it his 
 five motherless children here under the rigid care of a 
 sister from New Hampshire, with a special request 
 that Ellen should keep an eye on them. Little Number 
 Five s attack of the night before had not been serious, 
 and her call was more friendly than professional. 
 
 Miss Finch came out on the porch to meet her, and 
 something in her stern, dutiful face made Ellen pause 
 at the foot of the steps. 
 
 "Benjy isn t worse?" she asked quickly. Miss 
 Finch shook her head, but she made no motion to open 
 the screen door behind her. 
 
 " Dr. Ellen, I ain t one to beat about the bush," she 
 said, her voice as hard as the hands folded over her 
 apron, and yet, like them, a little tremulous. "I 
 don t judge you, one way or the other; though I do say, 
 to let a little girl die when you might have saved her 
 comes pretty close to murder. However, I don t 
 judge. But I m responsible to my brother for these 
 children, and I can t take no risks with em. I can t 
 feel they re goin to be experimented on and then 
 neglected. I do my duty, and all I ask is that others 
 do theirs." 
 
 Ellen, standing beneath her with a foot on the lowest 
 step, had grown pale, but her steady eyes did not falter. 
 
 "What child have I allowed to die, Miss Finch?" 
 46 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Spaulding s little girl was buried yesterday after 
 noon. They waited thirteen years before that child 
 come, Dr. Ellen I guess you don t know what that 
 means! I met Ned Spaulding to the grocery store 
 this morning, and he says, If that was a man doctor, 
 I d kill him like a dog, he says. I ain t judging " 
 
 "How senseless how unjust!" Ellen s eyes were 
 blazing. "That child had the best treatment I could 
 give, the most modern. I did my human best. What 
 do they know about it!" 
 
 "Well, wasn t you off gallivantin with a young city 
 feller the day she died, so s they couldn t get you?" 
 
 Ellen, after a bewildered instant, remembered that 
 Wallace had ridden a mile or two with her when she 
 started on her rounds that day. She had left her visit 
 to the Spauldings till the last, not knowing of the sudden 
 change for the worse, and had arrived too late. Neither 
 father nor mother had shown any hostility then. 
 
 "Oh, it is all so wickedly unfair," she exclaimed, 
 turning away. "I shall go to Ned Spaulding at once 
 and " 
 
 "Dr. Ellen, you better not." Miss Finch came 
 down the steps and followed her to the gate. "What s 
 done is done, and you better keep away from Spaulding 
 for a while. Explanations ain t goin to help much; 
 he just idolized that child, and I declare to you he s 
 pretty near off his head. Tain t goin to mend mat 
 ters for you to listen to him now." 
 
 "But what right has he to say I mismanaged or 
 neglected that case? What does he know?" 
 
 47 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Well, the day after the baby died, he had a talk 
 with the new doctor, Dr. Pocock, and he says " 
 
 "Oh!" Ellen s mouth shut ominously. "Now I 
 understand." She swung herself into the saddle and 
 rode away without another word, leaving Miss Finch 
 looking uncertainly after her. 
 
 "Well, anyhow, I m glad there s a man to call on 
 now," she decided. 
 
 Ellen would have gone straight to Dr. Pocock, with 
 no purpose clearer than a boiling need to "have it 
 out," if she had not encountered the calming presence 
 of Mr. Gilfillan. He let her tell the whole tale without 
 interruption, gently nodding his bent head at intervals. 
 
 "I know, I know," he reassured her when she had 
 finished. "After I buried the little girl yesterday, 
 Spaulding let it all out to me. Poor fellow, he s half 
 crazy; I said what I could, but I don t reckon he listened 
 much, and he s been talking all over town." 
 
 "It is that Pocock," interposed Ellen. "I was just 
 going to him." 
 
 "Well, some"; he nodded soothingly. "But so far 
 as I can make out, he hasn t said anything you could 
 take a hold of. If I was you, M z Roderick, I d wait 
 a few days just wait. It don t do to go at things 
 when everybody s red hot." 
 
 "But to stay at home and let them say " 
 
 "Well, I ll be here, you know;" the nondescript 
 little eyes seldom looked at her, but now they were 
 raised for an instant, and their simple loyalty made the 
 long, eccentric face beautiful. "I reckon I can say 
 
 48 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 it better than you could. You just wait," he coun 
 selled. 
 
 "I suppose you are right," she admitted reluctantly. 
 
 "I ll kinder keep an eye on things, and report to 
 you. Oh, I know it s hard." His hand rubbed and 
 patted the horse s flank, as though his sympathy must 
 express itself in some visible form. She took the 
 hand and held it for a moment. 
 
 "You are the best friend anyone ever had," she 
 said. Her eyes were misty when she rode away. 
 
 49 
 
VI 
 
 AT six that afternoon Amsden, fresh and clean in 
 white flannel, leaned on the window-ledge of his shaky 
 little room in Mrs. Dorn s cottage, smoking a cigarette 
 and amusedly watching Rory in the yard below. It 
 had been a lazy, out-of-doors day, and he had left 
 Ruth an hour before with no consciousness of having 
 had seven whole hours of her company as high a 
 compliment as he could have paid a girl in his present 
 state of mind. He was inclined to exaggerate the 
 importance of the fact that she did not tire him; the 
 memory of the last woman he had known well was 
 still oppressively fresh. A pleasant sense of well-being 
 was on him. He enjoyed his own bodily cleanness, 
 his quieted nerves, the consciousness of a good supper 
 and a friendly evening ahead. He was thoroughly 
 glad that he had come. 
 
 Down in the yard Rory had tied a nervous young 
 horse to a tree and was cautiously harnessing him into 
 a heavy breaking cart. Half of the colts of the neigh 
 bourhood passed through her dexterous hands, hands 
 seemingly endowed with something stronger than mere 
 will power and muscle. Amsden wondered at the way 
 the horse quieted under her touch and voice, dropping 
 
 So 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 from paroxysms of rebellion to trembling meekness. 
 Evidently he was new to the bondage of shafts, for 
 every time they touched his restless flanks he plunged 
 wildly. 
 
 "Rory, come in to your supper, " called the voice of 
 Mrs. Dorn from within. 
 
 "I can t leave. Bring me some out here," Rory 
 called back. They always addressed each other in 
 the shout of command, but were the best possible 
 friends. There was a voluble protest, broken by an 
 abrupt, 
 
 "Oh, quit jawin , Mama, I m hungry;" and pres 
 ently Mrs. Dorn appeared carrying a tray, which she 
 set down on the well- curb with a threatening 
 
 "You ll ruin your stomach, Rory Dorn. Why don t 
 you let the beast go and eat your meals like a Chris 
 tian?" 
 
 "He s a wild one," said Rory, biting into a doughnut. 
 "You ll have to concentrate good and plenty on him, 
 Mama, the first time I take him out." There was dry 
 humour in her tone. 
 
 "Oh, you can pull fun; but you d never be alive 
 this day if it hadn t been for me," protested the mother. 
 
 "And that s true enough," said Rory, gravely. 
 
 "Well, I m glad you admit it," grumbled Mrs. Dorn 
 unsuspectingly as she turned away. Rory grinned, 
 but said nothing. 
 
 The girl perched herself on the well- curb and talked 
 soothingly to her charge as she ate, occasionally spring 
 ing up to go to his head. She was a graceful little 
 
 S 1 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 person with a mass of chestnut hair, and a small, 
 shrewd face that would have been pretty but for a 
 slight aggressiveness expressed in the lower jaw. She 
 had a slangy way of using her slim, hard hands, and a 
 hobgoblin grin that were the joy of Wallace s life. 
 
 "How soon shall you be driving him?" asked 
 Amsden from above. She looked up and greeted him 
 with a friendly wave of the mutton chop in her right 
 hand. 
 
 "Oh, three or four days," she said. 
 
 "You won t go alone, surely?" 
 
 "Well, yes," said Rory, thoughtfully. "If anyone 
 was fool enough to go with me, they d be too big a 
 fool to be much help, d you see?" Amsden laughed. 
 
 "Shall I come behind and pick up the pieces?" 
 
 "Indeed, the pieces wouldn t be much use to me. 
 You can leave them lie." 
 
 "Your friends might like them as souvenirs." 
 
 Rory flung the remains of her chop neatly in the 
 path of a prowling cat, who started violently and 
 galloped off, tail streaming askew. 
 
 "Old fool that was a present, not a brickbat," 
 she commented. "I ve not the luck with cats I have 
 with horses; they always misunderstand me. Steady, 
 boy, steady! What ails you, now? Friends?" she 
 added, looking up at Amsden. "I haven t got one." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Well, I ride about now and again with Ruth 
 Chantry; she s a nice little thing, though she don t 
 know much. There s not another girl here that I d 
 
 S 2 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 bother my head about except Dr. Ellen; and she has 
 no time to throw away on me." 
 
 "But how about men?" 
 
 Rory with two expressive hands pushed away the 
 idea, her face averted, her nose crinkled. 
 
 " Now Heaven deliver me ! I ve no use for the men." 
 
 "But why not?" 
 
 She wagged her head. "Naw, naw. Not for me. 
 I d like to see them abolished." 
 
 " What s that ? " Wallace s head, wet and glistening, 
 appeared at the next window. "Abolish us? Oh, 
 now, Rory, you d be the first to call us back." 
 
 "If you took the horses with you; not otherwise." 
 
 "World without men, ah me!" Wallace chanted, 
 unconcernedly plying two hair brushes. He was coat- 
 less, and his full-moon face above his fresh white 
 linen looked pleasantly pink and ten years younger 
 than it was. Rory eyed him ironically. 
 
 "That s my idea of Heaven," she retorted. 
 
 "Oh, come off! Why are you so down on us, 
 anyway?" She considered, with a dawning grin. 
 
 "Because you re such fools about us if you must 
 have it." 
 
 "Wow help! I m no fool about girls, Rory 
 honestly." 
 
 "There s time yet," was the dubious answer. "But 
 you re making the colt nervous with all this talking. 
 I must have quiet in my schoolroom!" She began to 
 take off the harness with soothing words and strokings, 
 and Amsden s suggestion that it was nearly supper 
 
 53 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 time made Wallace withdraw. When they passed 
 through the yard a few moments later, there was no 
 one in sight but the cat, creeping back upon the bone 
 with the stealthy triumph of one who outwits the enemy. 
 
 Ellen Chantry had not appeared that afternoon, 
 except once in distant outline, mending the shed 
 roof. 
 
 " Something has gone wrong," Ruth had surmised, 
 as the sound of echoing blows reached them, and Ams- 
 den wondered anew at the incidents of the morning. 
 She was seated by the fireplace when they reached the 
 cabin, looking gentle and feminine in her antiquated 
 white lawn; it was only when she came to meet a 
 difficulty that Amsden saw his figurehead for a Viking 
 ship. He took a low seat beside her in the glow of the 
 newly lighted fire, which was snapping excitedly, its 
 foundation of twigs still curling in crimson effigy. 
 Wallace wandered out for a friendly conversation with 
 Ying, and the two sat in silence, Amsden determined 
 that she should be the first to speak. 
 
 Her beginning was perfunctory. "Have you had a 
 pleasant day?" 
 
 "Pleasanter than you have, I fancy," he said quietly. 
 He was not going to be kept to mere surfaces with a 
 person like Ellen Chantry. Superior she might be, 
 conceited, selfish; but her importance was unmistak 
 able, and Amsden was impatient for the struggle that 
 lay somewhere ahead of them. The issue might be 
 Ruth s captivity, or it might be some question as yet 
 unraised ; all he knew was that he never saw this woman 
 
 54 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 without an overwhelming desire to match his strength 
 against hers. 
 
 She gave him a startled look. "Why do you say 
 that?" 
 
 "We saw you down in the town this morning talking 
 to your friend the preacher. You were evidently very 
 much disturbed." 
 
 She seemed to be waiting for more. "Is that all?" 
 she asked finally. 
 
 "Except that last night you were miles away from 
 us all, absorbed in some very serious thoughts. Or 
 was it just that we bored you?" 
 
 "I have a good deal on my mind," she said gravely, 
 after a pause. "To-day my work has troubled me. 
 Last night I am sorry if I seemed abstracted, but I 
 have a puzzling responsibility. Doctors are apt to 
 have problems," she added with a faint smile. 
 
 "And does our being here complicate them?" 
 
 "I did not know you and Mr. Wallace were coming 
 until the day he arrived," she said inconsequently. 
 "Ruth did not think to speak of it." 
 
 "Would you rather not have us?" His tone was 
 wholly disinterested. 
 
 Her eyes searched his face, then turned back to the 
 fire. She went on hesitatingly, seemingly ignoring his 
 question. 
 
 "Mr. Amsden, there is a thing I want to speak to 
 you about. Ruth has been growing very discontented 
 with the life here, and I hope you will try I mean, 
 please do not make her any more so, if you can help it." 
 
 55 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Amsden bent forward to push back a log that had 
 rolled down between the andirons. 
 
 "But has she not perhaps a right to discontent?" 
 he asked presently. "She is very young, very alive; 
 what she wants may not seem to you exalted, but isn t 
 it, after all, an honest necessity to her?" 
 
 "Perhaps," said Ellen, coldly, and there was silence 
 until the sound of an opening door and Ruth s ecstatic 
 laugh brought an involuntary smile to Amsden s face. 
 He glanced up, to find Ellen s eyes fixed on him with 
 an anxiety that made him suddenly sorry for her. 
 
 "I am not going to trouble you or to make anything 
 harder for you," he assured her, rising. "One can t 
 help caring about her happiness, that is all." She 
 stood up, facing him. 
 
 "You are not in love with her?" 
 
 "Oh, good Lord, no!" His startled sincerity was 
 scarcely courteous, and he sent a glance of apology 
 after it, but she was smiling. 
 
 "Then it is all right," she said enigmatically as the 
 girls appeared on the stairs. Ruth looked sharply at 
 the two by the fire, but they were evidently glad of the 
 chance to turn away from each other. 
 
 "It is good to see you again, after this long separa 
 tion," Amsden said, holding out his hand. She took 
 it up gaily. 
 
 "Why, you are not changed at all! You look 
 scarcely an hour older. I should have known you 
 instantly, anywhere." 
 
 "Oh, don t say you have forgotten me!" burst in 
 56 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Christine, with a histrionic zeal that smothered the 
 little comedy. Amsden smiled at her tolerantly, and 
 dropped Ruth s hand. 
 
 "I think we are all forgetting supper," Ellen said, 
 leading the way to the table. " Where is Will?" 
 
 "I heard his voice in the kitchen," began Christine 
 as they took their places. Then she gave a squeal of 
 laughter that made them all turn to the opening door. 
 Wallace strode gravely in, clad in the stiffest and 
 whitest of Chinese garments, a pigtail of black ribbon 
 dangling down his back, a platter held high in front 
 of him. 
 
 "You no come so late to supper!" he commanded, 
 with a sharp wag of his head. "Heap too much 
 company here you send em home." He planted 
 the platter before Ellen with a bang Ying s own 
 gesture on occasions of displeasure. "Supper leady 
 hour ago all spoiled!" he added. Their laughter 
 doubled when they saw Ying s yellow face grinning in 
 the doorway. Somewhat to Amsden s surprise, Ellen 
 enjoyed it even more than the others. Wallace shuffled 
 out with so good an imitation of Ying s independent 
 swing head tilted back until the pigtail hung clear 
 of his blouse that she had tears of laughter on her 
 cheeks. He came back with two covered dishes which 
 he planked down beside the platter. 
 
 "You alia time laugh te he! No good!" he 
 stormed. "Alia same fool. I no cook for you. I go 
 to-night. You get nother boy!" With which he 
 dropped into his own place and beamed round the 
 
 57 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 table. "Wouldn t I make a pretty good chink ?" he 
 demanded. " Ying, I ve got you pushed off the earth." 
 Ying had come in with a dish, grinning sheepishly, and 
 departed as quickly as possible. 
 
 "How you dared do it!" Ruth exclaimed. "He 
 might have been furious." 
 
 "Oh, we re great pals, Ying and I. He didn t 
 mind." Wallace s easy good nature expected and 
 generally brought forth the same quality in others. 
 "People don t get mad as easy as people think," he 
 added confidently out of his experience. 
 
 "I d like to know how you got that particular black 
 ribbon," Christine interposed with a scrutinizing eye 
 on his pigtail. He chuckled. 
 
 "I ll never tell." 
 
 "Well, you will find people do get mad, if you are 
 not careful. Did you take it off that hat in the hall?" 
 
 "I ll put it back, Christine, honestly, just the way it 
 was before. I know exactly how the bows went." 
 
 "If you aren t the worst!" was her pouting comment. 
 " Very well, then, you shall retrim it." 
 
 After supper they brought a work-basket and the 
 denuded hat and prepared to enjoy his struggles; but 
 he insisted on retreating to the kitchen with the ma 
 terials and being left alone. 
 
 "You will make me nervous, looking," he protested. 
 
 They found themselves rather quiet without him 
 dull, was Christine s version as she sought solace at 
 the piano. Ruth looked at Amsden with happy ex 
 pectancy, much as his little nieces did when he came 
 
 $8 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 in with pleasant possibilities in his pockets. Response 
 was not easy, for he was wondering with growing 
 irritation why Ellen Chantry had been delighted to 
 learn that he was not in love with her sister. Discrim 
 ination against him as a husband would be childish; 
 he had a presentable physique, a fair income, a sound 
 preference for decency. The less unflattering expla 
 nation, that she was anxious to keep Ruth single, 
 seemed a little too selfish to be plausible "even of a 
 missionary," he added. Ellen had seated herself under 
 the lamp with a book, calmly aloof: "Amuse your 
 selves, young people, but don t disturb me," Amsden 
 read into the action. Good heavens, the woman was 
 only thirty or thirty- one, several years younger than 
 himself. Could nothing reach her consciousness 
 through that lacquered shell of superiority? 
 
 "You look so stern," Ruth complained from a nest 
 of cushions. "I m frightened to death." He dropped 
 down beside her on the couch without abating his 
 gravity. 
 
 "And so you should be. Little girls ought always 
 to fear their elders." 
 
 "Do you know how old I am?" Her tone was 
 indignant. 
 
 "Yes; you are going on ten. Nell and Poppy are 
 eight and six, but I think you would like them. I 
 will bring them to play with you some day." 
 
 "Ah your little grandchildren ? Amsden s laugh 
 admitted that she "had him." 
 
 "I wish they were," he added. 
 59 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "But you don t wish you were a grandfather!" 
 
 "Why not? It looks like a peaceful and happy 
 state, to me. And I should not be an unpleasant old 
 man, with spots on my clothes and bad table manners, 
 like so many of them ; I shall make a point of becoming 
 a neat and well-behaved grandfather." 
 
 "But you would miss the very best of it." Ruth 
 was excitedly earnest. "Why, everything is ahead of 
 you now don t you see ? The next ten years are all 
 that I care about. After that, I d as lief die as soon 
 as possible. Or even live up here," she added, the 
 light leaving her face. 
 
 "You want it so much I wish you could have it, 
 instead of me;" his voice was quick with sympathy. 
 "I would gladly give you my share." 
 
 " You mean of town ? " 
 
 "Town life and social things and opportunities for 
 marriage," he said boldly. "I would let you have 
 them all, freely, if I could keep my work." 
 
 Ruth s eyes were on her fingers, busily braiding the 
 fringe of a steamer rug into tight pigtails. 
 
 "But don t these things mean anything to you?" 
 she asked with an evident effort. 
 
 "Very little. But perhaps that is just because I am 
 ignorant and narrow. I have thought of very little 
 but putting up buildings for the past three years." 
 
 "And before that?" 
 
 "Before that I was engaged to be married." 
 
 Ruth drew a quick breath. "It was broken?" she 
 asked in a hushed voice. 
 
 60 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Oh, yes wisely for both of us;" his tone was 
 cheerfully matter-of-fact. "But it took some of the 
 glamour off the possibilities, you see." She looked 
 relieved. 
 
 "It made you ready to skip a few courses and go 
 on to salad," she suggested. 
 
 "What is that about salad?" Christine broke in, 
 leaving the piano. "Are you planning a picnic?" 
 
 "Let s," said Ruth. "Why can t we go off on one 
 to-morrow? We do picnics beautifully, Mr. Amsden 
 not a bit like other people s." 
 
 "But I like picnics, anyway," he protested. "Food 
 is so good when it is relieved from table manners. I d 
 rather lie on the ground with a chicken leg in one 
 hand, a jelly glass of beer in the other, than go to the 
 grandest dinner ever served." 
 
 "And yet you plan to be a refined and tidy grand 
 father," Ruth reminded him in a quick aside, and 
 they smiled at each other. 
 
 "There are both drumsticks and beer in the house," 
 said Ellen, who had looked up from her book. "I 
 will tell Ying to make you some sandwiches, if you 
 like." 
 
 "Why don t you come, too?" asked Amsden, out 
 wardly amiable. "A day with the children will do 
 you good." Ellen hesitated, glancing at the others, 
 who apparently had not heard, as they were talking 
 together. 
 
 "I should really like to come," she said simply. 
 "Ruth, may I go on your picnic to-morrow?" 
 
 61 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Why, of course," was the neutral answer. "We 
 must tell Will. Do you suppose he is still struggling 
 with that hat? There he is," she added as the door 
 opened. 
 
 Wallace had returned to his own clothes, and he 
 held the hat up proudly for inspection. The ribbon 
 had been replaced with surprising dexterity, but he 
 had not stopped at that; a bright red apple rested 
 against the crown, and from a bunch of parsley oppo 
 site, a tooth-brush rose stiffly like an aigrette, while a 
 cluster of tiny carrots drooped under the brim, which 
 was caught up on one side with a sponge. The orna 
 ments had been put on with ludicrous skill; the hat 
 really possessed an air. 
 
 "Ladies, I zell you zis loafly hat for von tollar 
 ninety-eight zents. You vill not find any hat like it 
 for der zame money, nor for any oder money. It is 
 a pargain! Notize der " 
 
 "Oh, Will, stop!" implored Christine, hysterically. 
 
 "I can t laugh any more," gasped Ruth. "Try it 
 on, Christine oh, heavenly! Will, what would it 
 take to keep you all the year round?" 
 
 "A rich wife, I guess," said Wallace, beaming frankly 
 at his success. Ruth looked startled at this interpre 
 tation of her question, then sighed regretfully. 
 
 "That cuts me out," she said. "I haven t a cent." 
 
 "I have," suggested Christine, with a very avalanche 
 of meaning. Wallace looked inquiringly at Ellen. 
 
 "Any more offers? No? Well, Christine, you get 
 the prize. This does not imply any lack of merit in 
 
 62 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 the other competitors; but where only one may be 
 chosen " he broke off and stared at her reflectively; 
 Christine looked very pretty at that moment, with 
 candle-light shining through her little frame of light 
 red curls. "I don t know but what it might be rather 
 a good idea," he said, in frank surprise. 
 
 Christine flouted and laughed at him. But late that 
 evening, in the seclusion of her own room, she stared 
 critically into the mirror with a candle held close to 
 her throat. Not that it was yet a question of obvious 
 hollows; but Time had undeniably chucked her under 
 the chin and left two finger marks. 
 
 "After all, I m twenty- nine," she mused. 
 
VII 
 
 " YING has made us enough sandwiches for an army," 
 Ellen said, rising from the breakfast table as the two 
 girls came down the next morning. "I will go and 
 pack them. We couldn t have a more perfect day to 
 picnic." 
 
 "It may be rather warm," Ruth objected. 
 
 "Not up the canon. Or are we going to Lone 
 Cedar?" 
 
 "Oh, anywhere," was the listless answer. 
 
 As Ellen went out with her strong, assured step, 
 Ruth s eyes met Christine s, then fell away guiltily. 
 They sat down in silence. 
 
 "How is it that she can leave her patients for a 
 whole day?" Christine asked presently, in a carefully 
 meaningless tone. 
 
 "I am sure I don t know." Their eyes met again, 
 and then Ruth let an unwilling laugh escape. " Chris 
 tine, we are hateful," she admitted. 
 
 "If there were another man, it wouldn t make so 
 much difference," Christine said, relieved at this invi 
 tation to frankness, but availing herself of it with 
 caution. "Wouldn t Mr. Gilfillan do?" 
 
 "Mercy, no; we couldn t have him. I dare say he 
 64 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 eats with his knife. Our only hope is in a patient s 
 sending for her." 
 
 "We might bribe some small boy to fall ill. Aren t 
 people different, Ruth! If I saw a nice little square 
 party all arranged, I shouldn t want to come along as 
 fifth should you?" 
 
 " Nothing could hire me. But Ellen doesn t think 
 of things like that much. You know, Christine, she is 
 really a great deal nicer than we are!" 
 
 " I dare say. But no one likes her any better for it. 
 Wouldn t you rather be human and popular, like 
 us?" 
 
 "I don t know;" Ruth spoke worriedly. "I hate 
 myself a good deal of the time. I can t live up to 
 Ellen s standards but I can t quite ignore them, and 
 they keep me uncomfortable. I wish I could live with 
 some one who who well, a little horrider than I 
 am. You, for instance." 
 
 "Thanks! But this isn t doing anything about our 
 picnic." 
 
 "But can we do anything?" 
 
 "I don t know. We might." 
 
 They fell into depressed silence. Presently Ruth 
 rose and carried the fruit out to the pantry, where Ellen 
 was packing sandwiches into a pasteboard box. 
 
 "We might as well take some of these peaches," 
 Ruth said. "They will go in the other knapsack, on 
 top of the beer." Her heart was beating nervously 
 with some unacknowledged purpose. "I will wrap 
 them in paper. How many?" 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Why, five, don t you think?" 
 
 "You are really going, then?" 
 
 Ellen s hands paused and she looked up, but Ruth 
 was carefully rolling a peach in tissue paper, and did 
 not meet her eyes. 
 
 "Why, I thought I would," she said slowly. "I 
 haven t had a day off for a long time." Ruth took up 
 a second peach in silence; Ellen waited a moment, then 
 spoke with a touch of sharpness; "Would you rather 
 I did not go, Ruth ? You have only to say so." 
 
 "Why, not at all." Ruth laid her peaches in the 
 knapsack with exaggerated care. "Why should I? 
 I don t think you will have a wildly exciting time, 
 three girls and two men always make an awkward 
 combination. But if you don t mind that Oh, dear, 
 these things are going to get jammed. I must put in 
 some cardboard." 
 
 Ellen stood very still, her hands resting on the table. 
 When she spoke, a moment later, her voice was clear 
 and quiet as usual. 
 
 "I think, on the whole, I do mind that. I believe 
 I will back out." 
 
 "Don t unless you really mean it," Ruth urged 
 hurriedly. "You know Will likes you immensely 
 he always says so. And Mr. Amsden is always nice 
 and friendly. I don t see why you shouldn t have a 
 very good time, Ellen." Her face had suddenly 
 flushed. 
 
 "No; on second thoughts, if I can t have a man 
 exclusively to myself, I doubt if I should enjoy it." 
 
 66 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 If Ellen was sarcastic, there was nothing in her face or 
 voice to betray it as she turned away. "I had not 
 taken everything into consideration." 
 
 "Well, it is just as you like," Ruth said with urgent 
 cordiality. "We should love to have you, you know. 
 I suppose, of course, there is danger that you might be 
 called to some patient." 
 
 "True," Ellen assented, and the door swung after 
 her. Ruth finished packing the two knapsacks with 
 hands that trembled visibly. As she gathered them 
 up, tears started to her eyes. 
 
 "Oh, I wish I were good, I wish I were different," 
 she whispered miserably. She could have flung her 
 arms about Ellen and begged her to come. "And yet 
 if she did I d be crosser than ever," she acknowledged. 
 "I can t help it, I can t! If I only could go away from 
 her!" She did not return to Christine until she heard 
 masculine voices on the porch. Then she announced 
 Ellen s defection curtly, presenting a resentful blank- 
 ness to Christine s glance of gleeful congratulation. 
 
 It was not to be a strenuous day. Lone Cedar lay 
 two miles to the north, with only one difficult canon 
 to cross if they kept to the ridge back of the house. 
 Wallace in the gaiety of his heart mounted his stick 
 and galloped off up the trail, and Christine cantered 
 after him, discreetly side-saddle on hers. Amsden felt 
 the exhilaration of the morning as keenly as they, 
 though his only outer admission of it was in the strong 
 thrust of his hands into his coat pockets, his alert, 
 contented eyes and lips drawn to a soundless whistle. 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Perhaps it would have been better if he could have 
 taken a little of it out in capering; that might have left 
 him less sympathetically conscious of Ruth s dejection 
 as she plodded silently after them, her eyes evidently 
 blind to the brightness of the day. 
 
 For the first half of the way he ignored her mood, 
 hoping her spirits would find the way up of themselves, 
 keeping near her with a friendly hand for difficulties, 
 but not forcing her to talk. It did not depress him - 
 only filled him with a warm desire to pet and laugh at 
 her as he did at Nell and Poppy. He had no intention 
 of showing this, but life was very strong and sweet this 
 morning, and the footing down the side of the last 
 ravine was treacherous, keeping him close beside her. 
 The trail went in abrupt jumps, winding through a 
 thicket of dwarf oak, whose rigid little twigs snapped 
 their faces and caught at their clothes. He had just 
 freed her hat from one when another plunged into the 
 soft mass of her hair. 
 
 "Wait; don t move. Let me undo it," he said. As 
 she stood patiently with head bent towards him, Ams- 
 den for the moment forgot everything but the appeal 
 of her dejection. He broke away the twig, then let 
 his hands slip down to her shoulders. 
 
 "You poor little soul what is it?" 
 
 She seemed to crumple in his arms, then slipped 
 from them into a heap in the path, her face buried in 
 her hands. 
 
 " Don t. I m such a pig," she sobbed. 
 
 His eyes were still full of laughter, but his voice was 
 68 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 sufficiently grave as he gently rubbed her shoulder 
 with his palm. 
 
 "Tell me about it. I don t believe you have been 
 very piggish." 
 
 "Oh, I have!" She controlled her voice, but kept 
 her face hidden. "I wouldn t let Ellen come. I 
 mean, I showed her I didn t want her to. It hurt 
 her feelings. And she is always so good to me, so 
 so I am always the horrid one. And I can t 
 seem to help it." 
 
 The tragedy seemed to Amsden very funny and 
 pathetic and endearing. He sat down beside her, still 
 with his palm against her other shoulder. 
 
 "Why didn t you want her to come?" he asked. 
 
 "I don t know. It just isn t so much fun when 
 she comes. I am mean to say that! But you know 
 she really is better than the rest of us, and we aren t 
 so comfortable." She glanced quickly about, and 
 caught him smiling. "You are making fun of me!" 
 
 His laugh admitted it. "You foolish child! Are 
 you spoiling a whole beautiful day for one little tiff?" 
 This aspect of it evidently brought comfort. Hope of 
 exoneration shone in Ruth s lifted face. 
 
 "But Ellen would have wanted me to come to her 
 picnic," she persisted faintly. 
 
 "Oh, bother Ellen!" He jumped up, holding down 
 his hands to her. "There is no law about wanting 
 people, so long as you wanted me. Now let us have 
 no more nonsense, little sister." She put her hands 
 in his and looked earnestly up at him. 
 
 69 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 " Do you honestly like me best better than Ellen ?" 
 she asked breathlessly. 
 
 "Why, of course. You are my intimate friend." 
 
 The last remnant of a shadow cleared away magically 
 as she scrambled up. 
 
 "I am glad." 
 
 She led the way recklessly, catching herself by rocks 
 and branches when her feet threatened to run away 
 with her, laughing back at him for approval at every 
 narrow escape. He found her delightful, yet his mood 
 had unaccountably chilled. He felt a dim alarm at 
 the memory of the past few minutes. 
 
 "Next thing I know, I shall be making a fool of 
 myself," he decided. He was not sorry when they 
 caught up with the others. 
 
 Across the ravine the trail joined an old wood road 
 that mounted Lone Cedar by easy stages. Near the 
 summit it passed a comfortable looking cabin with 
 scarlet curtains in the windows, and an attempt at a 
 garden. In one corner of this a man knelt, working 
 with a trowel; a woman sat on a stump close by, watch 
 ing him, her hand on the head of a brown setter. There 
 was a curious dejection about all three. 
 
 "Wow! Did you ever see such dismal- looking 
 beggars?" Wallace exclaimed. "You d think it was 
 a funeral." 
 
 "Why, it is," interrupted Ruth. "Don t you see 
 that is a grave, and he is planting things on it. A 
 child s grave." Her tone was gently awed. 
 
 The man lifted his head and looked at them, a quick, 
 70 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 sullen look, but long enough for Amsden to recognize 
 the stern face, dully white under a shock of black hair. 
 He remembered the explanation of the snub that had 
 been dealt him: " That s the father. It s Ned Spaul- 
 ding." So Spaulding had lost a child, and was per 
 haps bitter against all mankind for the time being. 
 Poor old chap! The explanation took the sting from 
 the memory. 
 
 When they had stood in the clean wind under the 
 dwarfed and twisted cedar that gave its name to the 
 peak, and stared their fill at the mountains humping 
 along to the north like a grand old line of camels, they 
 turned back to a sheltered hollow, sun-steeped and 
 aromatic, cushioned deep in needles, and lunched 
 luxuriously to the distant pine music. 
 
 "Gee! I d like to stay here forever," sighed Wal 
 lace, rolling over and stretching to express his content. 
 "I m so full of loving- kindness and chicken and good 
 ness and innocence and beer oh, it s great ! Amsden, 
 what do we go back for, anyway?" 
 
 "Well, I have a thing called a career, down 
 there." 
 
 "Wouldn t you give it up like a shot if you could? 
 If you didn t need the money?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Bet you would. What s the good of success, any 
 way?" 
 
 "It makes the game worth the candle, I suppose. 
 One must aim at something." 
 
 "Do you want it inside or outside?" Ruth asked 
 
 7 1 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 thoughtfully. "I mean, so that you can say to your 
 self, I have done good work/ or so that others will 
 say, There s Amsden, the architect? " 
 
 He smiled at her lazily over his folded arms. 
 
 "I want it so that my grandchildren may be both 
 rich and proud." 
 
 "Well, you d better hurry up about those grand 
 children," Wallace put in. "You re getting on and 
 there are preliminaries." 
 
 "I don t care for the tone this conversation is taking," 
 said Christine with mock primness, and brought the 
 talk back to the eternal guying. 
 
 Amsden slipped off into his own thoughts, his head 
 on his arms. His city ambitions seemed at the present 
 moment rather trivial. And there was something in 
 what Wallace had said about the preliminaries. 
 He believed that he could forego a wife cheerfully 
 enough, but some day there must be little girls in his 
 house, like Nell and Poppy. A boy, too; only not a 
 serious, sensitive little chap, such as he had been; he 
 preferred the robust, puppy order of boy. He looked 
 reflectively at Ruth, ecstatic at that moment over some 
 nonsense of Wallace s. Perhaps it would not be 
 making a fool of himself, after all. 
 
 It was a sense of a flaw in his content rather than 
 any tangible sound that made him presently glance 
 over his shoulder. His start drew the eyes of the 
 others after his to a pine tree not twenty feet away, 
 against which leaned the gaunt form of Ned Spaulding. 
 From his relaxed attitude, he might have been stand - 
 
 72 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 ing there some time. Christine gave a startled squeal, 
 and the men rose to their feet. 
 
 " Jolly, ain t you," said Spaulding; his voice was 
 hard and hostile. "Hevin a party. It s a wonder 
 the doctor ain t with you. She s goin to hev more 
 spare time now for gallivanting with a real doctor 
 here for the sick folks them that ain t dead of 
 neglect already." 
 
 The girls shrank back, frightened. Wallace would 
 have blustered, but Amsden interposed with temporiz 
 ing quietness. 
 
 "You re Spaulding, Ned Spaulding," he said. "You 
 have had a great loss. It s hard lines." The man 
 eyed him with fierce contempt. 
 
 "Yes; when your only child is murdered and you 
 haven t got no redress yes, you might call it hard 
 lines." 
 
 "Murdered!" 
 
 " Yes, murdered by an ignorant she doctor. Let 
 a baby choke to death. Never did nothing for her 
 poor throat, pretendin to treat her some other way 
 that warn t so much trouble for the doctor! She might 
 just as well hev strangled that child with her two 
 hands I wish to God she had. Then I could - 
 
 "Beg your pardon, Mr. Spaulding, sir, but your 
 wife is needing you down at the house," broke in a 
 quiet voice. Mr. Gilfillan had come noiselessly over 
 the pine needles and paused deferentially at a distance 
 from the group, a lank, homely figure, who spoke with 
 eyes averted, as though from a gentle desire to make 
 
 73 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 it easier for others. "She thought you might be up 
 here somewheres and I was glad to fetch you for her. 
 Sorry to interrupt, sir." 
 
 Spaulding hesitated a moment, then turned and 
 plunged down the slope without a word, leaving the 
 minister to follow, his ancient frock coat flapping 
 patiently about his knees. 
 
 The sunny content of the afternoon was shattered. 
 They began to gather their belongings in uncomfortable 
 silence. 
 
 "Well, I suppose a doctor can t help making mis 
 takes," Christine said, evidently with an idea of being 
 comforting and magnanimous. "Probably she tries to 
 take more cases than she can manage." 
 
 "It is more likely that the man does not know what 
 he is talking about," said Amsden, with an incisiveness 
 that surprised himself. "I cannot imagine Mrs. 
 Roderick careless of any responsibility." 
 
 "You bet," Wallace confirmed him. 
 
 Christine was never one to cling to the unpopular 
 side. 
 
 "Oh, of course not; I didn t mean that," she assured 
 them. 
 
 "But it s dreadful to be a doctor," said Ruth with 
 a sigh. "I wish she would give it up. I wouldn t 
 stay in a profession where such horrible things could 
 be said of me." 
 
 "I never did believe in it for a woman," agreed 
 Christine. 
 
 Amsden turned impatiently away from them. " They 
 74 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 are only girls," he tried to reassure himself; but his 
 disappointment betrayed how far his musings had led 
 him. After all, the merry-little-dog ideal of com 
 panionship might have serious limitations when life 
 presented big issues. He was glad that the girls 
 elected to walk together, leaving him free. 
 
 As they passed the Spaulding cabin, Mr. Gilfillan 
 came out. Amsden paused. 
 
 "I will follow you, if you don t mind," he told the 
 others; "I want to have a talk with the preacher." 
 
 "Oh, certainly; don t mind us," said Christine, with 
 an exaggerated toss of her head; but Ruth smiled 
 brightly to show that she was not in the least 
 hurt. 
 
 The two men were oddly contrasted as they met. 
 Amsden s neat outlines, his fine, scholarly face, his 
 reserved grey eyes with their look of quiet strength, 
 gave him every outer advantage over the shambling, 
 palely freckled Southerner in his grotesquely loose 
 clothes, his long features suggesting that they had 
 received a sharp pull downward at some early period, 
 his dingy little eyes never looking straight ahead. 
 Nevertheless, there was no patronage in the younger 
 man s interest. He had a suspicion that this lanky 
 preacher might be of a vastly higher civilization than 
 himself, in the broadest sense of the term. 
 
 "Do you do all your visiting on foot?" he asked as 
 they fell into step. 
 
 "Not usually, sir. But my little mare has had a 
 hard year, and I am giving her a rest. These friends 
 
 75 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 of mine are in great trouble," he added, with a motion 
 of his head towards the cabin. "I come up as often 
 as I can." 
 
 They hesitated before the topic, then Amsden took 
 it up. 
 
 "I have seen that Mrs. Roderick was upset about 
 something. I suppose Spaulding has been attacking 
 her right and left." 
 
 Mr. Gilfillan nodded regretfully. "Pretty much. 
 They don t treat diphtheria like they used to, and he 
 allows his child was neglected because there wasn t a 
 lot of throat washes and medicines. I reckon he ll see 
 it different when he s more ca m. It takes time 
 takes time." 
 
 "It must be maddening to have to fight stubborn 
 ignorance as well as disease," Amsden said thought 
 fully. "I should think Mrs. Roderick could really 
 accomplish more down in the city." Mr. Gilfillan was 
 silent a few moments, his hand on the little beard that 
 had roused Ruth s scorn. A turn of the road showed 
 them a diminishing vista of peaks, sharply blue in the 
 distance. 
 
 "I reckon it ain t always the number of folks you 
 help that counts," he said slowly. "You see that 
 mountain to the right, the bare one? It s a cattle 
 range, and about half-way up there s a cabin with a 
 woman in it. She s nigh twelve miles from a neighbour, 
 and four years ago, when the snow was over your 
 head, she had a baby came before twas expected. 
 They sent to Gallop, but the doctor was drunk 
 
 76 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 couldn t do anything with him. The parson went up 
 and buried the child; most buried the mother, too. 
 But she pulled through somehow. Now what do you 
 reckon it means to that woman to know that M z 
 Roderick s just waiting for the word to come up and 
 help her through this time ? Think of it strong as 
 a man and gentle as a woman, and ready to work day 
 and night to make it safe and sure. Do you believe 
 a dozen cases in the city, with plenty of folks at hand, 
 can balance that?" 
 
 Amsden s pulse responded to the picture. "It is 
 magnificent," he said; then Ruth s laugh from the 
 road ahead reminded him. "Still, I can t help feeling 
 that it could be done nearly as well by a coarser in 
 strument," he objected; "by some one whose training 
 had not prepared him and his family for a differ 
 ent sort of life. Why should not Gallop have an 
 honest, sober doctor, sufficiently skilful and reliable, 
 but not too good for his job?" 
 "And so it will have, if I m spared." 
 "You? Are you going to be a doctor?" 
 "Well, sir, I am one now, so far as having a certificate 
 goes; I went down last spring and took the examina 
 tions. I had been working towards it ever since my 
 voice broke down and I had to give up my church, 
 five years ago." 
 "But you are not practising?" 
 "Oh, there s time, there s time. I m not sure as 
 there s quite room here yet for two of us, but if she 
 does want to go, she ll feel easier." There was a 
 
 77 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 simplicity of devotion in the words that moved Amsden 
 to a keen desire for a better understanding. 
 
 "Then you do it for her as well as for the people?" 
 
 "I do it, sir, because it s needed." 
 
 The answer moved the younger man to impatient 
 protest. "But yourself!" he exclaimed. "Haven t 
 you any personal life, any personal desires? Don t 
 you want money or children or fame something that 
 isn t all for the good of others ? Where is your human 
 self in all this?" The little eyes rested on him indul 
 gently for a moment. 
 
 "Well, sir, it s sort of this way. If you were hurrying 
 down a street and saw a child get hurt so that it 
 screamed with pain you d forget for the moment 
 that you had a car to ketch, wouldn t you?" 
 
 "I suppose so. Yes, of course." 
 
 "Well, that s what happens when you get to hearing 
 the world s crying; you forget you wanted to ketch 
 a car. And it don t feel like giving up what you call 
 your personal life it s more like finding it. That s 
 what you want, don t you see? To ease that crying." 
 
 After a long silence, Amsden gave it up with a sigh 
 and a shake of his head. 
 
 "I think you re splendid, you know," he said; "but 
 I am a son of the world and the flesh out for myself, 
 I m afraid." 
 
 "Well, sir, I suppose you re right happy and satis 
 fied?" 
 
 Amsden laughed reluctantly. "No; neither happy 
 nor satisfied, except when I am too busy to think." 
 
 78 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "To think about yourself?" 
 
 They were nearly at the point where the trail branched 
 off from the road, and the others were waiting for 
 Amsden. 
 
 "Yes, myself, I suppose." 
 
 Mr. Gilfillan paused and held out his hand. "If 
 you once got outside of yourself, sir you d never 
 want to get in again!" The two men smiled at each 
 other over their clasped hands. 
 
 "Good luck to you," said Amsden. 
 
 The others attacked him teasingly on his new friend 
 as the ancient frock coat flapped out of sight. 
 
 "That is all right. He s a splendid old fellow," 
 Amsden insisted. " I like his philosophy." 
 
 "Good. He ll make a man of you yet," said 
 Wallace. 
 
 79 
 
VIII 
 
 THE days drifted by very lazily and happily for 
 Amsden. He was increasingly glad that he had come. 
 Ruth expanded under his approval like a flower in the 
 sun, and covert tilts with Ellen gave a subdued excite 
 ment to their meetings at meals. She said nothing 
 about her professional troubles, though Amsden learned 
 from Mr. Gilfillan how serious they were, and would 
 have been sympathetic if she had given him a 
 chance. 
 
 The idea that had occurred to him in the hollow on 
 Lone Cedar that Ruth might "do" came back 
 tentatively now and again under the influence of her 
 brilliant sweetness. It would be frankly a compro 
 mise, but no doubt the element of compromise was as 
 inescapable in marriage as in everything else. She 
 was certainly a dear soul. The fact that a battle must 
 be fought with Ellen first added an amused zest to 
 the idea; he had already in hand the plain truths with 
 which he should meet her unwillingness to let Ruth go. 
 A grimly satisfying rehearsal of these, one evening, 
 was broken in on by a plaintive, "Hello, central! 
 Can t you get Mr. Amsden?" from Christine. He 
 started and laughed. 
 
 "Please forgive me," he said, withdrawing his gaze 
 80 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 from the unconscious Ellen, who was herself lost in 
 thought, a little apart from the rest. "Did you ask 
 me something? I was wool-gathering." 
 
 "Looked more like scalp-gathering," commented 
 Wallace from the hammock. The lamp was not yet 
 lighted and they were lounging about the fire, Ruth 
 and Christine curled on the hearthrug. "Who were 
 you laying for, Amsden?" 
 
 "I think he was righting for a principle," put in 
 Ruth. "Have you heard anything at all for the past 
 ten minutes?" He had to admit that he had not. 
 "Then you don t know that we are thinking of going 
 camping for a couple of days?" Ellen moved slightly, 
 as if she too had only just heard the news. 
 
 "We ll sleep in bags and have a camp-fire," explained 
 Christine, joyously. "And maybe we ll see a bear!" 
 Her mouth and eyes were rounded to a suitable awe. 
 Ruth turned to her sister. 
 
 "Will you go, Ellen?" she asked, simply and sweetly. 
 Ellen s face lit with a warmth almost maternal. 
 
 "Yes; I should love to," she said quickly. She 
 moved a little closer to the hearthrug. "Don t you 
 want a back?" she suggested. Ruth leaned against 
 her knees and Ellen s hand touched almost timidly the 
 soft mass of her hair. Amsden had to admit that in 
 that moment Ellen was beautiful. The firelight 
 brought out the blond shine in her heavy, straight hair, 
 parted across a low forehead that was sunburned to a 
 darker tone: steady strength looked out of her grey 
 eyes, warmth lay about her unconscious mouth: the 
 
 81 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 power of her wonderful arms and shoulders was as 
 clearly expressed in repose as in work. Yes, she was 
 beautiful, and in this moment of gentleness it was hard 
 to think harsh things of her. 
 
 Christine seemed to find cause for irritation in the 
 friendly tableau. 
 
 "I wish you d pad your hearthrugs," she said with a 
 restless movement. "Will, throw me a cushion oh, 
 not a turkey- red one, silly! Have a little respect for 
 the colour of my hair." 
 
 "I thought it would just match," said Wallace, in 
 nocently; and received it back full in the face. " Wow! 
 These red-headed tempers!" he exclaimed, blinking 
 from the force of the blow. "And just when I was 
 beginning to take a sentimental interest in you, Chris 
 tine!" 
 
 " Oh, Willie!" Scrambling up, she flew to the ham 
 mock and fell on her knees beside it. "Are you, 
 really?" He was holding both hands pressed to his 
 cheek. 
 
 "I was, Christine," he said with dignity. "Now 
 I am in pain and it s gone. If you cared to make the 
 place well in the good old orthodox fashion " 
 
 "Vinegar and brown paper?" 
 
 "Yes: that is exactly what I meant. Her mother, 
 vex t, Did whip her next, " he added dreamily. "I ll 
 bet that did Jack more good than the vinegar cure." 
 
 "It didn t. Jack was a very nice boy." 
 
 "So m I," asserted Wallace. 
 
 "Well, if you feel that sentimental interest coming 
 
 82 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 back again, will you tell me?" she urged with mock 
 anxiety. 
 
 "What will you do?" he asked cautiously. 
 
 "Scream for help," was the unexpected reply, and 
 they all laughed. 
 
 "When you come to a lull," suggested Ruth, "we 
 will go on planning our excursion." 
 
 "A lull? What s a lull?" asked Wallace. "I 
 never came to one yet. You people are too sophis 
 ticated for me." 
 
 "A lull," explained Christine, "is what happens 
 when you are not around." 
 
 "Oh, then I suppose it s brushing your back hair 
 and telling secrets. Girls always do when they re 
 alone." 
 
 "No doubt men would, too, if they had any back 
 hair to brush." 
 
 "Not much. Do you suppose you d catch Ying at 
 it? and he has back hair to burn." The picture 
 of Ying gossiping over the plaiting of his pigtail made 
 the girls laugh. 
 
 "Oh, Willie, you re lovely," sighed Christine. "I 
 almost think I might do worse." 
 
 "Well, think it over some more don t decide in a 
 hurry," he protested. 
 
 " Oh, I ll let you know in plenty of time," she assured 
 him. 
 
 "What a shy, timid, reserved thing modern senti 
 ment is," commented Ellen, who had been looking on 
 amusedly. 
 
 83 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "So m I," returned Wallace. "I guess we d better 
 talk about the excursion." 
 
 "We will borrow Rory s spring wagon, and two can 
 go in that with the outfit the rest on horseback," 
 Ruth explained, turning to Amsden. "We have a 
 special place near the head of Juniper Creek, where 
 we go every year. We might ask Rory to go what 
 do you say, Ellen?" 
 
 "By all means," Ellen assented with warm readiness. 
 Ruth moved a little closer to her. 
 
 "We shall have to have more horses," she went on. 
 " I wish we could get that little brown mare of Larsen s 
 that Miss Finch drives; but it is engaged for the sum 
 mer." 
 
 "So m I," murmured Wallace with a heavy sigh. 
 
 Ellen usually excused herself or slipped away un 
 noticed early in the evening, but to-night Ruth s head 
 against her knee seemed to hold her seemed also to 
 bring her into closer sympathy with them than usual, 
 for certainly her presence proved no constraint. A 
 tangible pleasantness pervaded the big, firelit room; 
 they laughed easily, warmed with a grateful sense of 
 human nearness. It was late when the men set out 
 down the trail. 
 
 When Ellen had gone to lock up, Christine turned a 
 significant glance on Ruth. 
 
 "That was a good idea to ask Rory; now we re an 
 even six. Of course, we couldn t have gone without 
 any chaperon," she added with a faint sigh. 
 
 Ruth yawned happily and openly. "Don t, Chris- 
 84 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 tine," she protested. "I m good to-night; for heaven s 
 sake let me see if I can t stay so!" 
 
 Rory consented drily to the expedition, and agreed 
 to furnish a horse for the spring-wagon, on condition 
 that no one but herself should touch the reins. They 
 were not tempted to dispute that privilege with her 
 when a gaunt, black beast with rakish hips, a hostile 
 eye, and a lower lip evilly protruding, stood scowling 
 and stamping before the door a few days later. They 
 had just finished an early lunch and were giving a 
 final look to the equipment of the four saddle horses. 
 
 "That s all right," said Rory, unmoved by their 
 comments. "He ll get us there in three hours without 
 turning a hair, which is more than those two thorough 
 breds you ve hired can do. I guess Dr. Ellen isn t 
 afraid." 
 
 "She s afraid of Ying," confided Ruth in a whisper. 
 "He doesn t approve of excursions, and he s been going 
 about like the Wrath of God ever since this was broken 
 to him." Ying stalked out at that moment and stowed 
 the provisions into the wagon with a thud that made 
 the horse start. Ellen followed him looking somewhat 
 chastened. 
 
 "Good-by, Ying," she said with conciliatory friend 
 liness as she got in beside Rory. 
 
 A scornful "H hl" was the only answer, and the 
 door was slammed upon them. They did not dare 
 smile at one another until they were beyond range of 
 the windows. 
 
 Ruth, riding cross-saddle, her hair in a braided queue 
 
 85 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 tied with a black ribbon and the brim of her felt hat 
 blown straight up in front, looked like a gallant young 
 Continental. The costume was less becoming to Chris 
 tine, who was slightly irritable in consequence. At 
 Wallace s guileless comment that she "ought to train 
 down a bit," she decided that she had a headache, and 
 disliked riding in the hot sun, and that her saddle was 
 not comfortable. 
 
 "She wouldn t mind the sun if she could see how 
 enchanting her hair looks, would she, Will," said Ruth, 
 generously eager to have everyone as happy as herself. 
 "It s just like burnished copper." 
 
 "Too bad locks of hair have gone out, as keepsakes," 
 assented Will. "Wouldn t one of those little cork 
 screws be a jolly thing to have found over the heart 
 when one was dead!" 
 
 "Over the left that s the only place you will ever 
 wear one," returned Christine; but her headache 
 seemed to be better. She was in high spirits by the 
 time they reached the village, and did not share the 
 impulse of the others to attract as little attention as 
 possible. The surly looks they met served only to 
 deepen her amusement over the funny little place, and 
 she would have stopped at the store for candy but for 
 the sudden appearance of Ned Spaulding, gaunt and 
 scowling, in the doorway. Her laugh as she rode on 
 sounded insolently loud in the silence that had fallen 
 on the street at their approach. 
 
 "The girl s a fool," muttered Rory, touching up her 
 horse. Amsden glanced back at the turning, and saw 
 
 86 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Spaulding with impassioned gestures holding forth to 
 a gathering crowd. 
 
 For the first few miles their road was little more 
 than an elongated dent in a sheer mountain side, with 
 stations built out at infrequent intervals where teams 
 might pass. At each of these Rory pulled up and sent 
 her clear halloo echoing on ahead: the lack of an 
 answering shout showed the road clear. The only 
 shade here was given by occasional rocks that jutted 
 menacingly over their heads. From the tangled growth 
 of the sharp descent beneath came the aromatic scent 
 of sunned herbs; jack-rabbits bounded down the road 
 ahead of them, and once they saw a huge snake pouring 
 like a jet of brown lava over the edge of the bank. 
 It was a relief to turn into the cool freshness of a road 
 that wound up the long ascent of a pine-clad ridge, 
 and finally plunged abruptly down into the shallow 
 canon where Juniper Creek played among the rocks 
 in eternal childhood, ignorant of the toil awaiting its 
 lusty strength farther down. 
 
 When the outfit had been unpacked and wood 
 gathered for the camp-fire, the two men were sent down 
 stream while the girls bathed in a shallow granite 
 basin, its waters gilded to a specious effect of warmth 
 by the sun s final burst of glory, poured down over 
 them through the western opening of the canon. The 
 men came back wet-haired and ruddy, to find the fire 
 crackling, and Ellen setting out their supper. She 
 would not allow anyone to help. 
 
 "You have all ridden or driven all the way, while I 
 
 87 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 have come in absolute idleness," she insisted. "I am 
 going to do everything. All I ask is that Ruth puts on 
 her sweater, whether she thinks she needs it or not." 
 
 Ruth laughed and obeyed. Her attitude towards 
 Ellen had been wholly sweet all day, and Ellen showed 
 a grateful happiness that struck Amsden as almost 
 pathetic in one so strong and self-reliant so superior, 
 as Christine called it. Ruth turned to him to have her 
 sleeves pushed in. 
 
 "It isn t really necessary, with this shirt, but it is 
 such a pleasant custom," she confessed. "Don t you 
 wish really big sleeves would come into fashion again 
 so that you would always have to tuck them in?" 
 
 "Why do you like it?" he asked, smiling down on 
 her. He felt an unexpected impulse to complete his 
 work by buttoning the sweater under her lifted chin, 
 but thrust his hands firmly into his pockets instead. 
 
 "It feels so kind and friendly and protective!" 
 Ruth was leading the way up the brook, Wallace and 
 Christine having taken the other direction; her rubber- 
 soled canvas shoes gave to her natural poise a lightness 
 and security that made her seem almost more than 
 mortal in her flitting over the rocks. "And they do 
 it so considerately oh, I could cry with gratitude." 
 She laughed at herself. "It makes me feel little and 
 beloved," she confided. "Fashion ought always to 
 arrange openings like that." 
 
 "Well, doesn t it? I notice that I have had to 
 button my sister up the back occasionally, of late 
 years." He followed to the top of the boulder where 
 
 88 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 she had seated herself, and stood for a moment looking 
 down through the cleft of the canon to the western 
 sky, barred with fading gold. The wonderful night 
 smells of the mountains were flooding up to them from 
 the dark, massed green beneath, where the chill had 
 already fallen, though their sun-steeped rock was still 
 warm. "But Aileen doesn t seem moved to cry with 
 gratitude about it," he added, dropping down beside 
 her. 
 
 "Oh, that is different;" but she was evidently think 
 ing of something else. "Are you always nice to your 
 sister?" she asked abruptly. 
 
 "I have to be. She wouldn t let me play with Nell 
 and Poppy, otherwise." 
 
 "Ah, you probably want to be." She sighed. 
 "You haven t any hateful feminine streaks in you. 
 But I have been good as gold to-day," she added, her 
 face clearing and lighting with its magic swiftness of 
 transition. "I have discovered a great new truth. I 
 am going to give it to the world presently, but you 
 shall hear it first. It is, Be good and you will be 
 happy." 
 
 Amsden, who was lying on his back, pulled out a 
 note-book and, holding it up against the sky, wrote 
 down the words and the date with her initials. 
 
 "When your great discovery has made you famous, 
 I shall point to this and say, She told me first. There 
 is a secondary discovery, by the way, that you will 
 probably make before long." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 89 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "That that is a high price to pay merely to be 
 happy." 
 
 "Oh, no! Oh, you mustn t put such thoughts into 
 my head!" But she laughed delightedly. "You are 
 so human," she said with a little movement towards 
 him, as unconscious as the brimming light in her 
 eyes. 
 
 "God knows I am!" he said half to himself, looking 
 away from her with an effort. 
 
 The wonder if Ruth would not "do" had come 
 back persistently all that day, and in the pause that 
 followed it grew suddenly to a wonder that he had 
 ever doubted. Surely life could hold nothing better 
 for him. The conviction brought a relieved joy; some 
 tiresome protest deep within was silenced at last, and 
 he could set about his wooing like any other man, 
 happy in the hope of success. He had been expecting 
 too much of love, that was all. It was not a master 
 passion, but a warm and cherishing kindness, inex 
 plicably touched with pity. His revery was broken in 
 on by her impetuous, "Mr. Amsden!" 
 
 "Miss Chantry," he returned mockingly. She 
 looked disconcerted, and smiled at him helplessly. 
 "If we had been cast six years ago on a desert island," 
 he went on, "I suppose you would still be saying, 
 Mr. Amsden, will you pass the breadfruit? or, Mr. 
 Amsden, do you see a sail?" 1 
 
 To his surprise, she coloured vividly. "I can t help 
 it," she protested. 
 
 "Philip is a very simple name; you would think 
 90 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 anyone could say it. However, as you please, Miss 
 Chantry. You were saying ?" 
 
 "But I don t want you to call me that! You said 
 Ruth this morning." 
 
 "It was a great liberty on my part, Miss Chantry. 
 I apologize." 
 
 "Ah, now you are a thousand miles off!" She was 
 genuinely distressed. "Please don t do come back! 
 I don t want to call you that. I don t know why 
 I just can t! But I want you to call me Ruth. Oh, 
 please be good to me!" Tears on her eyelashes 
 startled a warm laugh from him. 
 
 "Ruth, you absurd Ruth!" 
 
 "Supper!" called Ellen s voice from below. Ruth 
 jumped up, vividly gay again, and Amsden followed 
 her back with amused, kindly, possessive eyes. Most 
 assuredly she would "do," for any man in his senses. 
 That he had no lover s doubts of the issue should 
 have been a warning to him; but he was in no mood 
 to heed warnings. 
 
 Rory had gathered crimson fireweed to decorate the 
 blue tablecloth spread on the pine needles, and as 
 Ying s disapproval had not extended to his prepara 
 tions, they supped luxuriously, contentedly quiet after 
 the long day. By the time supper was cleared away 
 black darkness lay like a wall outside their circle of 
 firelit trunks. The fire was built on an embedded 
 rock and safeguarded with a trench, so they piled it 
 recklessly high and roasted alternate sides, doubling 
 up their blanket sleeping bags for cushions. Amsden, 
 
 9 1 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 lying on his back beneath a young hemlock, saw its 
 feathery branches marvellously decorated with stars, 
 like brilliant blossoms studding the stems and tipping 
 the delicate points of the needles. The darkness had 
 wiped out the distance between bough and sky. It 
 was so enchanting, his tree full of stars, that he felt 
 vaguely selfish in keeping it to himself. 
 
 "But Christine would find it funny," he reflected, 
 "and Ruth would enjoy it only by sympathy because 
 someone else did; she doesn t care for natural beauty. 
 And Dr. Ellen " He paused, suddenly beyond his 
 depths, and lifted his head to look across at Ellen. 
 She had thrown herself back to stare up through the 
 branches overhead, and there was a half smile on her 
 face, a look of wonder and delight. Evidently she too 
 had discovered a tree full of stars. 
 
 "And she doesn t want to share it, either," he decided. 
 
 Christine sat up with a bored yawn. "Why didn t 
 we bring cards for bridge," she exclaimed. 
 
 "Oh, we couldn t see to play unless we sat too close 
 to the fire," said Ruth, drowsily. 
 
 "Won t there be a moon, later?" 
 
 "Not till after midnight, I think. It s on its last 
 quarter." 
 
 "So m I," murmured Wallace. 
 
 "What can we do, then?" Christine persisted. "I 
 think somebody might be amusing." 
 
 "Lie down and think about nice things," counselled 
 Ruth. "A night like this is all full of the dearest 
 little thoughts, if you give it a chance." 
 
 92 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "So m I," came again from Wallace s blanket. 
 
 "But I hear such queer noises when you re all 
 quiet," Christine complained. "I know there is a 
 whole circle of wild beasts out there watching us." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense. You hear the horses and the brook. 
 There is nothing to be afraid of, is there, Ellen?" 
 
 Ellen, who had obviously heard only the last sen 
 tence, repeated, " Afraid of? Here?" with a frankness 
 of surprise that Christine resented. 
 
 "I think people who consider themselves brave are 
 often simply stupid or unsensitive coarse-fibred," 
 she said into the air. "If you are all going to sleep 
 I will draw a picture of you and call it A sociable 
 evening on Juniper Creek. Have you a knife, Ruth ? 
 This pencil is dull." 
 
 "So m I," said Wallace. Christine turned on him 
 wrathfully. 
 
 "Willie Wallace, if you say that again, I shall strike 
 you. You have kept it up for twenty-four hours, and 
 I am so tired of it I could scream." 
 
 "So m I," said Wallace, meekly, and she had to 
 laugh. 
 
 "Rory, you amuse her," suggested Ruth. 
 
 "Tell her the story of your life," Wallace added. 
 Rory, whose idea of lounging was to sit bolt upright 
 on a very hard rock, shook her head. 
 
 "I doubt if Christine would be finding it amusing," 
 she said, with a free-born disregard of prefixes that 
 made that young lady lift her eyebrows. 
 
 "Why not?" asked Wallace. 
 
 93 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 " There s no men in it," was the dry answer. Even 
 Christine had to join the general laugh. 
 
 "Did you never have even one tiny little flir 
 tation, Rory?" she asked with good-humoured con 
 descension. 
 
 "What s that?" asked Rory, coolly. 
 
 "Good for you, Rory make her define it," ap 
 plauded Will. "Just what do you mean by flirtation, 
 Christine?" 
 
 "I never mean anything by it," was the triumphant 
 answer. 
 
 "You score," Wallace admitted, sinking back de 
 jectedly on his blankets. "There s no use trying to 
 beat a red-headed girl. Say, did you mean that?" he 
 added a moment later. 
 
 "Mean what?" 
 
 Even Wallace, for once, found explanation difficult. 
 "Oh, well, nothing," he said with a sigh. 
 
 "I think," mused Christine, "that Willie Wallie is 
 asking me my intentions." 
 
 "Well, they re honourable, aren t they?" asked 
 Ruth. "I have been asleep three times," she added. 
 "The night has a thousand eyes, but they seem to 
 shut very easily." 
 
 Ellen rose. "Bed time," she announced. 
 
 The night outfit consisted of a thick flannel suit, 
 woollen stockings and wrapper, a scarf for the head 
 and a long bag of doubled grey blanket. There were 
 also extra rugs to soften their beds of pine twigs, 
 which Rory had prepared before supper. She had 
 
 94 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 also insisted on chopping logs for the night fire, irri 
 tated at Amsden s willing but unprofessional strokes. 
 Ellen tucked the girls up within the circle of the fire 
 light, then retreated with her bag to a black solitude 
 sown with stars, full of resinous scents and a marvellous 
 silence. Christine, cowering under her wraps, ob 
 viously wished that their guardian men need not sleep 
 on the other side of the circle, and might have been 
 heard to mutter that "the proprieties were too silly 
 in a forest full of wild beasts;" but Ruth in the bag 
 beside hers had already gone to sleep and she soon 
 followed. If wild beasts stole out later to peer at 
 their fire, no one knew it. 
 
 Amsden thought at first it was daylight that had 
 awakened him, but as his eyes cleared he found himself 
 staring up into an ancient, jaded moon, looking flushed 
 and decrepit as it sagged above the tree tops. The 
 fire still showed red coals, so, slipping on his clothes, 
 he softly built it up, then lit a cigarette and sat down 
 with his back against a rugged trunk to revel in the 
 solitary beauty of the hour. The night was not cold 
 and he must have dozed, for suddenly he discovered 
 that the fire had sunk to a glow and the moon was 
 high over his head. His cold cigarette was still be 
 tween his fingers. He threw it away and was about 
 to return to his bed when a sound on the road below 
 checked him. This road was little more than a trail 
 and led only to an abandoned logging camp, yet he 
 thought he heard wheels and the creak of a wagon. 
 A horse whinnied and was answered. The wheel 
 
 95 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 sounds ceased and seemed to be followed by stealthy 
 movements, the scraping of a board, then slow foot 
 steps. 
 
 "Fm crazy I m dreaming," he assured himself. 
 "It is a woodpecker or a squirrel." Nevertheless he 
 sat rigidly listening in the inky shadow. Complete 
 silence seemed to have fallen; he was ready to smile 
 at his startled nerves when close beside him came the 
 muffled pad of cautious feet on pine needles, and 
 four men marched past, suddenly revealed by the 
 moonlight. He started up, then hesitated, watching 
 with tense muscles. Wallace lay sleeping thirty feet 
 away, his own empty blankets looking like another 
 form at his side, but the men paid no attention to him, 
 or to the shadow where the women slept. Then 
 Amsden saw that they carried by its four corners some 
 sort of a box, which they lowered with infinite caution 
 and placed on the ground before the fire. That done, 
 they stole away as softly as they had come, and a 
 moment later he heard wheels again, going recklessly 
 fast now. 
 
 He sprang up and went to investigate the present 
 they had left, still assuring himself that there must be 
 some simple and rational explanation of the whole 
 scene. At first he saw only that it was an open black 
 box; then, as a stick blazed up, a quick, outraged 
 "Good God!" sprang to his lips. For it was a rough 
 counterfeit of a child s coffin that confronted him, and 
 within, cushioned with staring white, lay a horrible 
 caricature of a dead child, a strangling cloth wound 
 
 96 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 about its throat and on its breast a paper with " Mur 
 dered!" printed blackly across it. 
 
 "Oh, why didn t I kill them!" he muttered. He 
 would have attacked them single-handed at that mo 
 ment, with no weapon but his righteous rage. The 
 one thing to do now was to destroy the hideous object 
 before anyone else had seen it, and he gathered it up, 
 then stood hesitating over the method. To break it 
 with the axe would make too much noise in these 
 silent woods, no matter how far he carried it, and the 
 fire could not burn it whole. Ghastly as the idea was, 
 burial seemed to be the only way to be rid of the 
 thing. He set it down and, walking noiselessly in his 
 rubber-soled shoes, went down to the wagon in the 
 hope of finding some implement to dig with. A small 
 shovel had been put in for roasting potatoes, and 
 armed with this he hurried back. 
 
 He was too late. Before the coffin stood a motion 
 less figure, looking tall and austere in her straight 
 grey wrapper, her eyes fixed steadily on the effigy with 
 its staring label. 
 
 "Oh, I wanted to spare you I didn t want you to 
 see it," broke from Amsden. She motioned caution. 
 Her eyes as she lifted them seemed to him desolately 
 sad, but her voice was quiet and natural. 
 
 "I saw them come and leave it," she said in a low 
 tone. "I thought I recognized them did you?" 
 
 "I have seen them hanging about the saloons; I 
 don t know their names." 
 
 "Well, it does not matter. How shall we get rid of 
 97 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 it?" He told her reluctantly of his plan to bury it, 
 but she nodded quiet approval. "I can lead you to 
 the best place," she said, when he begged her not to 
 come, and set out ahead of him along a winding trail, 
 dimly lit by the moon. 
 
 The box was heavy, and his shoulder ached with its 
 weight before she brought him to the edge of a mar 
 vellous little meadow no bigger than a room, walled 
 with crowded pines and carpeted with thick, fine grass. 
 Through the centre wound a baby stream, and the 
 grass was starred with tiny white flowers, here and 
 there a pale orchid rising slenderly above their heads. 
 The ground was spongy with water, and, laying his 
 burden in the shadow, Amsden silently set to work. 
 She stood beside him in her straight grey gown like 
 some priestess of a strange rite, and her very stillness 
 seemed to give him a new knowledge of her. He felt 
 her strength; her deep capacity for sorrow, and her 
 power to put it by; her warmth and her sane readiness 
 for happiness when it came; the touch of divine mys 
 tery that lies about those who wholly lack self -conscious 
 ness. When the hole was dug he looked up into her 
 face, and his anger flamed again. 
 
 "I could kill them!" he said between his teeth. 
 
 "Ah, they don t know, they don t know!" she mur 
 mured. As he lifted the box she took one end from 
 him and they lowered it together into its place. The 
 moonlight showed with horrible plainness the cari 
 catured child as she stood looking down on it; her 
 heavy braid, hanging over her shoulder, shadowed her 
 
 98 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 face, but Amsden saw her hands clench and heard 
 her shuddered "Oh, God, God!" 
 
 He dropped his shovel, and putting his arm about 
 her turned her away. 
 
 "Dear woman, don t, don t care so," he begged. 
 Her knuckles were driven against her mouth. 
 
 "It isn t that oh, it isn t that!" she said in a 
 broken voice; and then Amsden remembered that she 
 had borne and lost a child. 
 
 She sank down on a fallen trunk, and laid her fore 
 head on her knees, her arms clasping them about. 
 He felt her mute appeal to be left alone, and, turning 
 helplessly from her, he spent his passion of sympathy 
 in hiding the brutal thing. It was weirdly like a real 
 burial as the earth covered the coffin, with the moon 
 lighting the white orchids of the tiny meadow, and the 
 bowed woman beside him, her braid falling to her 
 feet. When the grave was filled he dragged a dead 
 branch over the place, then sat down near her and 
 waited. The mellow moonlight was fading before the 
 clean, new white of dawn when she lifted her head. 
 Whatever had passed, her face was clear and quiet 
 again. 
 
 "You should have gone back," she said. "You 
 must be cold and tired." 
 
 " No. Shall you do anything about this ?" he added. 
 "Or will you let me?" 
 
 She shook her head. "What is there to do? I 
 can t believe that Spaulding had any hand in it. Those 
 rough young fellows are always looking about for 
 
 99 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 mischief; they would champion a cause simply as an 
 excuse for making trouble. No; I shall win in time 
 without fighting back." 
 
 She rose and turned to the trail, and Amsden, fol 
 lowing, believed that he was again forgotten. But at 
 the camp she paused and held out her hand. 
 
 "I am more grateful than I show," she said with an 
 effort. "You know it, don t you?" 
 
 "Yes. Good-night." He stole back to his blankets 
 without arousing Wallace. Neither of them had seen 
 a head sharply lifted, and two startled eyes staring at 
 them from Christine s couch. 
 
 The morning was not a success. Wallace declared 
 that he had not closed his eyes all night, and, as no 
 one cared to dispute the statement, he was left to doze 
 in peace over a magazine. Christine was mysterious 
 and haughty, and avoided Ellen so pointedly that only 
 Ellen herself failed to notice it. Ellen s eyes, on meet 
 ing Amsden s, had not shown the faintest memory of 
 a secret held between them, and, after a momentary 
 disappointment, he liked her for it, his brief engage 
 ment having taught him that the power to forget the 
 night before would be a valuable morning trait in 
 woman. She was absent-minded, however, and soon 
 disappeared by herself. Rory, to whom idleness was 
 a physical impossibility, went off with Ellen s two 
 saddle horses, to give them a lesson in jumping, and 
 Amsden showed a strong tendency to follow Wallace s 
 example. 
 
 100 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "I never saw such a stupid set," Ruth exclaimed at 
 last. "This is a pleasure trip, not a rest cure! What 
 you all need is a good tramp to wake you up. Come 
 on!" She jumped up and dragged Christine to her 
 feet. "Let s eat some lunch now and go over to old 
 Tamarack. We can get nearly to the top if we start 
 soon." 
 
 "Do you know the way?" asked Christine. 
 
 " Yes, of course. I have been dozens of times I 
 mean twice," she added with a laugh. "Come, every 
 body, and just eat; we won t spread the tablecloth." 
 
 Christine, still reserved, finally consented to go, and 
 Wallace was dragged groaning from his retreat. They 
 pinned a note for Ellen on a pine trunk, and presently 
 set out, plodding in single file along a narrow trail. 
 The sun was hot, and the distance proved greater than 
 Ruth had remembered : they were still far from Tama 
 rack s great flank when Christine planted herself on a 
 bank and declared that she had had enough. 
 
 "Me, too," echoed Wallace, whose plump face was 
 a deep, even pink. "The view may be all that you 
 say, Ruth, but I d rather see a bath tub and a whiskey 
 and soda than the grandest vista ever visited." 
 
 "You won t see those at the camp." 
 
 "Well, there is beer and the creek, Miss Literal." 
 
 Ruth turned to Amsden. " Suppose we go on with 
 out them? They are only cry-babies, anyway." He 
 was willing enough to go on, though he wondered a 
 little at Christine s dissatisfaction with the arrange 
 ment; she was usually more than willing to be left 
 
 101 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 tete-k-tete with Wallace. She tried to make Ruth 
 turn back, and still sat looking uneasily after her when 
 she disappeared with Amsden. 
 
 "I don t like leaving her alone with That Man," 
 she said, the corners of her mouth tightening. Wallace 
 dropped the handkerchief with which he was patting 
 his moist forehead. 
 
 "Oh, come off, Christine," he exclaimed. "What s 
 got into you ? Amsden is the straightest chap I know." 
 Her eyebrows went up expressively, but she said noth 
 ing. "Now, see here!" She had never seen him so 
 nearly indignant. "You had better tell me what you 
 mean, for, whatever it is, you re dead wrong." 
 
 "Oh, no doubt. And I dare say Dr. Ellen is just 
 as perfectly above suspicion in every way, isn t 
 she?" 
 
 "You can bet your life on that," said Wallace, so 
 gravely that she was piqued into plain speech. 
 
 "Well, then, what were they doing off together in 
 the woods before daylight?" she demanded. 
 
 "Looking after the horses, no doubt; building up the 
 fire; anything." 
 
 "As you please," she shrugged. "I only know that 
 I had been awake an hour at the very least, when they 
 suddenly appeared together out of the depths of the 
 woods. He held her hand and they whispered a 
 moment, then separated. I never was so upset in 
 my life." 
 
 Wallace said nothing at first, and she thought him 
 overwhelmed by her information until he turned to 
 
 102 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 her; then she found in the boyishly good-natured face 
 a sternness before which she secretly quailed. 
 
 "Christine, there are a few things in this world so 
 sure that no human evidence can touch them," he 
 began, "and one of these is Ellen Chantry. I don t 
 care if she and Amsden went off together for a week 
 I should know it was all right, some way or other. 
 Now you just take my word for it, and don t you ever 
 think of what you saw again much less speak 
 of it." 
 
 "Well, I don t see what explanation there can be," 
 she objected sulkily. 
 
 "What do you want an explanation for?" was the 
 wrathful answer. "Don t you know Ellen? And 
 isn t that enough for you?" 
 
 "Yes, quite enough for me!" said Christine, her 
 chin in the air, and they marched nearly to the camp 
 in cold silence. Then, seeing that he would not weaken, 
 she put away her resentment and sent a plaintive, 
 "Wil-lie!" after his uncompromising back. 
 
 "Well?" he said, without turning. 
 
 "Are you going to be cross at me all the rest of the 
 day?" 
 
 "I am not cross at you, Christine." 
 
 "You just don t like me very well?" 
 
 He hesitated. "You did give me a jolt," he con 
 fessed. 
 
 She came closer and put her hand through his arm. 
 "Christine is sorry," she murmured. 
 
 "But is Christine convinced?" he asked, not looking 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 at her. Her fingers slipped down to the hand in his 
 coat pocket. 
 
 "Of course, only she hates to admit it!" 
 
 Wallace melted at once. "Then it is all right," he 
 said, smiling on her. "By Jove, I wonder what this 
 queer little thing in my pocket is?" 
 
 "In your pocket?" She was eager curiosity per 
 sonified. "Take it out and let Christine see." 
 
 "No: she is too young. I shall keep it to myself." 
 
 " Oh, Willie, please show me what is in your pocket!" 
 she begged. "What is it like?" 
 
 "Well, it s soft, and small, and warm and a trifle 
 sticky" 
 
 She caught her hand away with an indignant laugh. 
 "Horrid man! It isn t," she declared. 
 
 "It is. Come here to the brook and wash it." 
 
 They had reached the camp, but no one was in 
 sight, so he took her by the shoulder and marched her 
 to a gravelly pool. All the little girls in the world 
 boiled into one could not have been so little-girlish as 
 Christine, trotting meekly beside him. When her very 
 pretty hands had been well rinsed, she offered them 
 for his inspection, looking up with anxious gravity. 
 He turned them over, then expressed his approval 
 with a matter-of-course kiss on one cheek. 
 
 "Yes, that s a good girl," he said encouragingly. 
 She sprang up, flushing. 
 
 "Will Wallace! How dare you!" she began in 
 outraged tones: then laughter was too much for them 
 and they frankly shouted. 
 
 104 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "What is the joke?" asked Ellen, appearing from 
 the woods across the brook. 
 
 "It couldn t be repeated," said Christine, making 
 an effort at cordiality. 
 
 "I m not so sure," commented Wallace, who was 
 looking exceedingly pleased with himself. "I think 
 the oftener it was repeated " 
 
 "Will, be still!" commanded Christine. "W r e have 
 had such a broiling walk, Dr. Ellen: you were lucky 
 not to be with us." But, for all her friendliness, her 
 narrowed eyes said, "I d like to know what you were 
 up to last night, just the same, my superior woman 1" 
 
IX 
 
 AMSDEN took little heed where Ruth led him, glad 
 of her contented silence. She was a pleasant fact in 
 his life, something he was going to think about pres 
 ently; but just now he was struggling to reconcile the 
 Ellen with whom he had so just a quarrel with the 
 impression left on him by the Ellen of last night. It 
 was a hopeless business and ended by irritating him. 
 He turned back to Ruth with relief. 
 
 "How do you know the way?" he asked. "I can t 
 see any trail." 
 
 "Oh, as long as we are going up hill, we are bound 
 to reach the top," she explained light-heartedly. "We 
 got off the trail some time ago, but I knew we should 
 find it again up there, so I didn t bother." 
 
 She seemed so at home, leading the way up the 
 sharp ascent, that Amsden, knowing little of wood 
 craft, left the matter comfortably to her. They 
 emerged presently above the timber line and, by 
 agreement, climbed to the bald, stony summit without 
 looking up, that the full glory of the view might burst 
 on them at once. When, at Ruth s "Now!" they 
 turned to face the prospect, Amsden was disappointed. 
 Instead of being poised on a solitary peak high above 
 
 106 
 
Dk. ELLEN 
 
 a rolling sea of crests, they seemed to be on the end 
 of a long, bleak ridge, no higher than its neighbours 
 and offering little outlook. 
 
 "Why, we can do better than this at the cabin door," 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 Ruth, after a long, silent look in every direction, sat 
 down on a stone with her chin on her knuckles and 
 sent him a guilty, furtive, amused smile. 
 
 "The trouble is, you see," she confessed, "this isn t 
 Tamarack." 
 
 "What is it, then?" 
 
 "I m sure I don t know." 
 
 "And where has Tamarack gone?" 
 
 "I don t know that either." They laughed at them 
 selves, at their hot, steep climb for this puny result. 
 "I thought we were getting to the top remarkably 
 soon," she admitted. He looked at his watch. 
 
 "Not so very soon, either," he exclaimed. "Do 
 you know that it is after four?" She rose slowly and 
 stood studying the mountains to the west. 
 
 "Of course, we have come from over there some 
 where; but it doesn t look so very familiar," she said, 
 showing for the first time a touch of uneasiness. 
 
 "But if we go down here where we came up, can t 
 we strike the trail we were following?" 
 
 "Yes, I hope so. We must try it, anyway." But 
 Ruth, who knew something of the ways of mountains, 
 still stood looking in vain for a familiar outline. " Well, 
 we know our general direction we ll cling to that," 
 she said anxiously, starting down. 
 
 107 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 This was not difficult so long as the western sun 
 beams slanted through every gap in the trees. When 
 an opening gave them a glimpse of Tamarack, looming 
 far behind them on the right, they went forward with 
 new courage. 
 
 "We didn t lose the old mountain, we just mislaid 
 it," Ruth explained, gay with relief. "Now I have 
 some idea where we are." 
 
 "Aren t you very tired?" Amsden asked. She 
 smiled at him with quick gratitude for the sympathy 
 in his voice. 
 
 "No, really," she asserted. 
 
 A distant mountain shouldered between them and 
 the sun, and presently even the glow was cut off as 
 they plunged down and down, making an arduous 
 short-cut in the hope of striking the lost trail. The 
 sparse woods grew more dense; half an hour was spent 
 in crossing a thorny ravine, and twilight was already 
 upon them when they emerged, scratched and panting, 
 on the other side. They were less sure of their direc 
 tion now, but they did not say so. 
 
 The woods that closed about them took on a for 
 bidding character; not a blade of grass, not a bush or 
 a young shoot softened the austerity of the bare, hard 
 ground, harsh with rocks or slippery with needles. 
 The pine trunks were so close together that the lower 
 branches had died for lack of sun and air, spreading 
 a roof of death and decay above their heads. In the 
 crevices of the rocks were holes before which lay sin 
 ister fragments a whorl of desperate feathers or tiny, 
 
 108 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 broken bones, showing that the dense silence was not 
 imtenanted, and adding a belittling touch of forlorn 
 disorder. All the beauty and majesty of pines was 
 lost; they appeared stark, dismal, blighted with degra 
 dation and death. Ruth came closer to Amsden and 
 finally put her hand in his, and so they went on until 
 the dusk was nearly darkness and their cheerful talk 
 died out unnoticed. 
 
 "I am rather afraid," she said suddenly. He drew 
 her closer. 
 
 "I don t wonder! But it must end sometime 
 no human forest could last much longer than this 
 has." 
 
 " Unless we are going in circles." 
 
 That well-known possibility had been haunting 
 Amsden and he had kept a sharp lookout for recurrent 
 landmarks; but he answered lightly: 
 
 " Oh, we should have come across one of your combs 
 by this time, or a handkerchief, if we were. They 
 always do." 
 
 "But I haven t lost anything," she objected 
 seriously. 
 
 "You seem to have lost your way." 
 
 "If you knew more about mountains, you wouldn t 
 joke you would be frightened, too." 
 
 "But we are not so very badly lost, after all. We 
 can t be more than a few miles from the camp, whether 
 we find it or not." 
 
 "Well, if a few miles from supper and bed satisfies 
 you! It is getting so dark I wish we could come 
 
 109 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 out someXvhere. I know now why they called the 
 woods horridus in Latin. This is the most horridus 
 wood I ever saw " 
 
 "It is a grubby, degraded slum of a wood." 
 Amsden spoke quickly, keeping himself between her 
 and a low-hanging rock on his left, from beneath 
 which two flat discs of green fire were turned towards 
 them. "I didn t suppose a forest could go down hill 
 to such an extent; it is no fit place for a lady." The 
 disks were too far apart to belong to a little animal; 
 their position must mean some big head pressed on 
 the ground, and he seemed to see a bristling outline 
 about them in their black retreat. "We certainly 
 haven t been here before, for the branches are getting 
 lower and lower. We shall have to go on our hands 
 and knees presently." They were safely past now; 
 furtive glances backwards showed no green lamps 
 tracking them, and he fell into relieved silence. Sud 
 denly Ruth stopped short. 
 
 "If another branch jabs me in the head, I shall 
 scream!" she whimpered. "I am so tired of being 
 hurt. It s not fair to hurt me like that!" She was so 
 like Poppy in her despair that Amsden could have 
 laughed outright. 
 
 "It is outrageous," he sympathized. "Keep close 
 behind me, that will break a way for you." 
 
 She obeyed and they went forward in Indian file. 
 The character of the wood was changing; presently 
 they were confronted with a dense wall of undergrowth. 
 Amsden forced his way into it for a few feet, then came 
 
 no 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 struggling back to where Ruth stood staring miserably 
 after him. 
 
 "Oh, don t leave me again!" she exclaimed. "I 
 would rather be lost forever than stay another minute 
 by myself. Please don t." 
 
 He promised, but felt a touch of impatience in place 
 of the typical male pride of protect! veness ; and was 
 not too absorbed to wonder at it a little as they fol 
 lowed the edge of the thicket. The world s old gen 
 eralizations made courage and independence scarcely 
 necessary to woman s charm; yet in that moment he 
 had a warming vision of a figure in a straight grey 
 gown, marked only by the shining line of her braid, 
 leading him without word or look through the moonlit 
 forest. 
 
 The ground under their feet sloped up and presently 
 they were climbing with new hope, seeing a glimmer of 
 light ahead. Fifteen minutes later they emerged on a 
 clear hillside under the open sky. A film of cloud hid 
 the stars that might have guided them, and the sur 
 rounding hills were only denser masses in the semi dark 
 ness, yet they had a rejoicing sense of being no longer 
 lost. At the top Ruth dropped down in tired silence. 
 
 "Well, there is just one thing to be done," Amsden 
 decided. "We are fairly high here; I shall build a 
 fire and let them find us. It is ignominious, but 
 practical." 
 
 "I will help," said Ruth, pulling herself up. He 
 pushed her gently down again and, taking off his coat, 
 wrapped it about her. 
 
 in 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "You stay there," he ordered. 
 
 A shelf of rock just beside them jutted out from the 
 hillside, and on this he piled brush and sticks. When 
 he came back to get matches from his coat he found 
 Ruth asleep. He tried to take them without disturbing 
 her, but her eyes opened. 
 
 "Philip?" she said sleepily. 
 
 "Yes, Ruth. I want to get the matches." His 
 hand touched hers in the darkness, and, finding them 
 cold, he held them for a moment. Then he started 
 up. " Come close to the fire ; you have been so heated," 
 he commanded abruptly. When the blaze was going 
 he busied himself gathering more wood. It was half 
 an hour before he sat down opposite her, his hands 
 clasping his shirt- sleeved arms. 
 
 "You must have your coat," she said, sitting up 
 and beginning to take it off. 
 
 "I don t want it, really." 
 
 "But you must. I shan t feel comfortable. Here!" 
 
 "Ruth, put that on again at once." 
 
 "I won t." 
 
 "Then I shall come and put it on you by force." 
 
 "I don t want your old coat. I m roasting." 
 
 "It does not matter in the least what you want. Do 
 you intend to put it on?" 
 
 "Please, Mr. Amsden, it would worry me so I 
 have on loads more clothes than you have. You 
 wouldn t want to worry me, would you?" 
 
 "But, child, there is nothing to worry about. I 
 never take cold while if you should, your sister will 
 
 112 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 pack me off to town by the next train." He came 
 over and kneeling beside her held up the coat. "Here, 
 now. No more nonsense." She looked up at him 
 very much as Nell and Poppy did when it was advisable 
 to see how far he was in earnest. He was rash enough 
 to smile; whereupon she closed her eyes with a sup 
 pressed laugh and curled down tighter on the ground. 
 "Very well, then." He took one arm and thrust it, 
 unresisting but helplessly limp, into the sleeve, and 
 lifted her, a wicked dead weight with eyes still screwed 
 shut, to find the other arm. Then he buttoned the 
 coat under her chin and laid her down with emphasis. 
 Her eyes opened suddenly, laughing, gleaming with 
 life, absolutely innocent of intention; he laughed with 
 her, but abruptly rose to his feet and turned to pile 
 more wood on the fire. 
 
 "Oh, for a beefsteak!" he exclaimed. "Were you 
 ever so hungry in your life? See if there are any 
 cigarettes in that coat." She felt in the pockets and 
 gave a small shriek of delight as a package of chocolate 
 was discovered. 
 
 "I am sure I never put it there," he exclaimed, 
 falling on his half. "I always knew you were clever 
 feel again and see if you can t find some lamb 
 chops or even a few baked apples." 
 
 "I gave it to you yesterday when we were starting 
 out. Wasn t it beautiful that we forgot it! Yes, here 
 are some cigarettes only two, though. I think you 
 ought to let me have one." 
 
 "Assuredly. I didn t know you used them." 
 "3 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Well, I don t. Christine showed me how, but I 
 thought them very nasty. She says all the nice girls 
 do it now. Do they really?" 
 
 "I know one nice girl who evidently does not." 
 It was pleasant to say such things to Ruth, she enjoyed 
 them so frankly. 
 
 "But how do you feel about it?" she persisted. 
 
 "I am afraid I don t feel at all. I mean, if I like a 
 girl, I like what she does; and if I don t like her she 
 may take to a pipe for all I care." 
 
 "That seems to me rather unprincipled," commented 
 Ruth. "I sometimes think you don t say to me the 
 things you really mean," she added wistfully. 
 
 Her penetration startled Amsden, and even discon 
 certed him. He had scarcely acknowledged to himself 
 how little part in this lazy summer intercourse his real 
 self had taken, and just now, with Ruth sunning her 
 self like a little lizard in the happiness of the hour, he 
 did not want to remember it. He had tried once or 
 twice when he first came to draw the talk away from 
 the eternal personal, but she had no interest in any 
 thing else, so he had amusedly followed her lead, 
 content to keep his real interests to himself and to let 
 her flash back and forth undisturbed in the tiny walled 
 garden of her desires. The fact that she did not fulfil 
 his ideal of companionship had not troubled him then: 
 now it brought a quick impatience with himself. 
 There was a battle on to-night, a battle so active that 
 he had forgotten their precarious position, the anxiety 
 at the camp, everything but the warning knowledge 
 
 114 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 that if he crossed over to where Ruth lay, he should be 
 sealing up in eternal loneliness the self that had 
 given hearth and home to the man all these years; 
 and a sharp realization that if that tired little 
 hand, flung on the ground palm up, were held out 
 to him, loyalty to the secret self would not have 
 the power of a straw to hold the man back. Yet 
 he sat quiet and impenetrable behind his cigar 
 ette, his hands clasping his shirt-sleeved arms, let 
 ting the night decide the battle as it would. Ruth, 
 as untroubled as he by their situation, since she 
 was warm and happy, kept the issue at bay by her 
 very unconsciousness. 
 
 "Do you say to me what you really mean?" she 
 repeated. 
 
 "When I think it would amuse you," he replied 
 quite honestly. She was satisfied with that. 
 
 "We always talk about nice things, you and I." 
 she said. "Now Ellen likes to talk about things in the 
 newspapers and general, abstract topics that nobody 
 cares anything about, really. I suppose that is why 
 I have so much more fun with Christine." 
 
 "What do you and she talk about?" 
 
 " Oh, clothes and men and good times all the nice, 
 human things. Men don t talk together when they re 
 alone the way we do," she added. 
 
 "How do you know, since you aren t there?" 
 
 "Oh, I know! Now and then one says something 
 and the other gives a little grunt; and presently he says 
 something, and the first one gives a grunt; and at the 
 
 "5 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 end of an hour that is all that has happened, except 
 their cigars." 
 
 He laughed. "You have been eaves- dropping," he 
 accused her. 
 
 " I couldn t help it. You and Will were sitting under 
 my window all the time I was dressing, the other day." 
 
 "We were being cautious. If your window had not 
 been there, we should have been talking passionately 
 about waistcoats and girls and all the nice human 
 things/ instead of merely grunting." 
 
 " You are making fun of me, but I am so comfortable 
 I don t care. Do you know," she added presently, 
 curling down closer to the ground with her cheek 
 pillowed on her arm, "I think we are both going to 
 remember this evening all our lives. We were so lost 
 and hungry and tired and frightened, and then we got 
 out of all that horror and found something to eat and 
 had the fire and gave up worrying so that it will all 
 stamp itself in a lovely little warm picture on our 
 memories. Don t you think so?" 
 
 "Yes; I think we shall remember it," he said quietly. 
 
 "If it weren t for worrying them, I shouldn t mind 
 very much if we had to stay here all night should 
 you?" she went on. "The ground is rather hard, but 
 there is plenty of wood, and it s so nice being just our 
 two selves don t you think so?" She smiled 
 drowsily at him. "Don t you like it here?" 
 
 He rose without answering, and plunged down into 
 the darkness beneath them, returning some time later 
 unnecessarily laden with sticks and brush. 
 
 116 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "What time is it?" she asked, starting from a doze. 
 
 "I don t dare look." He threw an armful of brush 
 on the fire, sending the blaze high above his head, as 
 he stood outlined against it. 
 
 "Ah, I know you are cold!" Her voice had a 
 troubled warmth. "Won t you take your coat now?" 
 
 "Truly, I don t need it." 
 
 "Please Philip!" He looked down into her up 
 turned face, and forgot to answer. "We may have to 
 stay here all night, you know," she went on, still with 
 her firelit face lifted to his. "I couldn t sleep a mo 
 ment, thinking of you over there all cold. Don t 
 make me!" His back was to the fire, so that his face 
 was in darkness, but the quality of his silence suddenly 
 reached her, and though she did not understand, she 
 was startled. "What is it? You hear something?" 
 she asked breathlessly. 
 
 Truly, he heard things: heard the ancient call of the 
 blood to take this child in his arms and keep her there : 
 heard still above that cry the stubborn protest, "Not 
 this, not yet! Wait!" 
 
 "Ruth!" he said desperately, as though she could 
 help him. "Ruth!" 
 
 Then through the inner tumult came a sound from 
 without, faint and distant yet unmistakable, a human 
 call. It came again, Ellen s resonant voice with its 
 contralto note. He whirled about, shouting his answer 
 across the darkness to a pinhead of light that meant a 
 waving torch, shouting it joyously in the glory of free 
 dom, of escape. For in a flash the battle was over, and 
 
 117 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 the victory lay, clearly and forever, with the self that 
 could wait and hope, but could not compromise. 
 And Ruth, all unconscious, shouted happily beside 
 him. 
 
 118 
 
EVERYONE slept late in the morning, and after break 
 fast, Ruth, who was evidently over-tired, went back to 
 her blankets and slept heavily through all their prepa 
 rations for departure. Ellen put off starting till noon. 
 She seemed worried and abstracted, and Amsden 
 fancied she was thoroughly glad that their pleasure 
 excursion was over. The trip back to the camp, the 
 night before, had proved surprisingly simple with 
 torches and shouts to guide them. No one had seemed 
 seriously worried by their adventure except Christine, 
 who welcomed Ruth solicitously and pointedly avoided 
 speaking to Amsden at their late supper. By morning 
 she had slept off her unexplained resentment, and 
 would even, in Ruth s absence, have exchanged Wallace 
 for Amsden had the latter shown any disposition to be 
 monopolized. He obviously preferred grooming the 
 horses under Rory s patronizing instructions, and so 
 presently she went for a walk with Wallace, a walk 
 evidently destined to end at the first spot that invited 
 lounging. 
 
 Rory, after rubbing up the harness, backed the 
 wagon into the creek and began washing its wheels. 
 
 "Why not do that when you get home?" Amsden 
 119 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 asked, giving the brush a professional scrape on the 
 currycomb and approaching with some caution the 
 rakish hind quarters of the black. 
 
 "And Dr. Ellen ride home in it looking like that? 
 I guess not." 
 
 Her scorn of the idea gave him an amused suspicion. 
 "Would you clean it up for Miss O Hara?" he asked. 
 
 "Naw," said Rory. 
 
 "For Miss Chantry, then?" 
 
 "Oh, go long; you do ask questions." He laughed. 
 
 "I was just wondering," he began, but a nervous 
 jerk on the part of the black clipped the sentence. 
 
 "He ll put a hole through you if you go wondering 
 too much," Rory warned him. "You d best let me 
 finish him. Here, you can go on with this." She 
 held out the dripping sponge and he meekly made the 
 change, balancing himself on two stones in mid -stream. 
 
 "Well, this is energy!" said Ellen s voice from the 
 bank above where she had paused, a book under her 
 arm. "Why are we putting on so much grandeur?" 
 
 "Well, Rory thinks the wagon wouldn t be good 
 enough for you unless it was washed," Amsden ex 
 plained mischievously. Rory shot him a vengeful look 
 and the black horse winced, lifting a threatening hind 
 
 leg- 
 
 "Rory knows what a crank I am about dirt," said 
 Ellen, with a smile at the scowling little face. "How 
 ever, I think Ruth will have to take my place going 
 back, she is so tired; and she would never notice the 
 difference. So don t do any more than you want to." 
 
 120 
 
DR, ELLEN 
 
 Rory s eyes had clouded. As Ellen turned away 
 she finished her grooming with a careless rub and 
 picked up the shafts of the wagon. 
 
 "It s clean enough; don t stand there swabbing all 
 the morning," she commanded. 
 
 ".Clean enough for Miss Chantry," Amsden assented. 
 Rory turned her back. 
 
 "You re that foolish," she muttered. 
 
 Towards noon Ellen reluctantly aroused R.uth, who 
 complained of a headache and ate her luncheon in 
 deep dejection. Ellen looked at her uneasily, but said 
 nothing until Wallace opened up the subject with his 
 usual frankness. 
 
 "You look like a boiled owl, Ruth. Why on earth 
 do you try to ride home? You won t enjoy it." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I will. Riding always does me good," 
 she said hastily. 
 
 "I m afraid it won t to-day in this bright sun," put 
 in Ellen. "I really think you had better give it up 
 and drive, Ruth." Her tone was apologetic, but Ruth 
 was not to be conciliated. 
 
 "You would like me to give up everything," she said 
 petulantly. 
 
 "Suppose we don t go at all," suggested Wallace. 
 "We can stay over another night just as well, can t 
 we?" 
 
 "I am going whether you do or not," said Ruth, 
 and finished her meal in heavy silence. 
 
 Ellen looked depressed, but it occurred to Amsden 
 that she also looked firm. When they rose to start, 
 
 121 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 she turned to Ruth, who was pinning on her 
 hat. 
 
 "Ruth, your doctor gives positive orders that you 
 are not to ride; so you might just as well submit grace 
 fully." Her friendly voice offered every chance for 
 graceful submission, but Ruth would not follow her 
 lead. She flung her hat on the ground and turned 
 away. 
 
 "You spoil everything. You never want me to have 
 any fun," she said with a sob. 
 
 Ellen broke the uncomfortable pause that followed 
 her disappearance. "Ruth s headaches always upset 
 her nerves," she apologized. 
 
 "Suppose we don t go," said Wallace. 
 
 "I think we had better," Ellen decided. "We all 
 need home comforts. And, besides, Ying would worry; 
 he expects us to supper." 
 
 "Then by all means don t let s disappoint him. I 
 suppose you will ride with us." 
 
 "I suppose so," she assented reluctantly. She evi 
 dently hated to take the pleasure she was denying 
 Ruth. 
 
 The little scene left Amsden musing. "It would be 
 like marrying Nell and Poppy," he realized. Relief 
 at his escape did not lessen his sense of warm affection 
 and presently he went in search of her. He found her 
 sitting on a boulder over the creek, her eyes heavy but 
 her lips tranquil and smiling. She was watching a 
 trout in the pool beneath, and motioned him to come 
 cautiously. She was as free from embarrassment as 
 
 122 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Poppy herself, ten minutes after her small tem 
 pests. 
 
 "How is your headache?" he asked when the trout 
 had flashed out of sight. 
 
 "Much better," she assured him. "I cried some of 
 it off. Wasn t I horrid," she added. 
 
 He smiled. "Very horrid." 
 
 "Well, I told you I was petty and unreasonable and 
 all that, the first time I met you," she protested. "You 
 thought it was funny then." 
 
 "Perhaps I do still." 
 
 She shook her head. "I know. It s only funny 
 when you hear about it, not when you see it happen. 
 Don t be cross at me don t disapprove of me, will 
 you!" 
 
 "Not if you are a good girl." 
 
 "And polite to my teacher," she added ironically. 
 "Are you going to ride with Ellen?" 
 
 "And with you, too. Can t we ride beside the 
 wagon?" 
 
 "Oh, will you, truly?" 
 
 He laughed at the naive joy of her voice. "If Rory 
 will let us. You must come now: the other two have 
 already started." 
 
 The attempt to ride beside the wagon did not work 
 very well. The excitement of companionship was too 
 much for the black horse with his head turned towards 
 home and a two days rest animating his gaunt bones. 
 He persistently travelled in leaps until Rory ordered 
 the two riders to fall behind out of earshot. Ruth 
 
 123 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 looked wistfully back as the winding road gave her a 
 last glimpse of them, sitting silent on their horses, 
 apparently oblivious of each other. 
 
 "You could have held him, Rory," she objected. 
 
 "Maybe I could and then maybe I couldn t," was 
 the tranquil answer. "Anyway, there s no sense in 
 wearing out the harness before its time." 
 
 "He wouldn t be so nervous and jumpy if you 
 fattened him up a little;" Ruth was frankly peevish. 
 
 "Haven t I been fattening him these three months? 
 You may think he s poor now, but when I first got 
 him, I give you my word I had to tie a knot in his tail 
 or he d slip through the collar." 
 
 Ruth laughed in spite of herself. "What did you 
 buy such an ugly beast for?" she asked. 
 
 "Ten dollars," was the concise answer. "I ll get 
 eighty for him in a few weeks more you ll see. 
 Maybe a hundred. All he needed was proper handling, 
 poor brute." 
 
 " Dear me, I wish I could make money like that." 
 
 "What do you want it for?" 
 
 "What for! Clothes, and the city, and people 
 freedom to do what I like!" 
 
 "Gewgaws and men," was the dry interpretation. 
 "I d not turn my hand for them." 
 
 "But what do you want, then, Rory?" 
 
 "Want? What s the good of wanting anything? 
 I d not waste my time that way." 
 
 "That is perfect nonsense! You want your horses, 
 don t you? You want to succeed in breaking them?" 
 
 124 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "I m willing to make a living that way, and I have 
 a kindness for the poor beasts. I ll not say I spend 
 any emotion over them." 
 
 " Don t you spend any emotion over anything or 
 anybody?" Ruth asked incredulously. 
 
 "Why should I?" 
 
 "Well, I don t believe you, that s all. Even Ellen, 
 for all she s so calm and independent well, she 
 doesn t care to live alone, you notice! That is why I 
 am chained up here year after year." Ruth s voice 
 had grown resentful. Rory shot a side glance at her, 
 wondering and a little scornful. 
 
 "You won t find anyone better than Dr. Ellen to 
 live with, search the world over," she said impatiently. 
 "Why don t you thank heaven on your knees that you 
 were born her sister, instead of blatting about parties ?" 
 
 Ruth was too astonished to take offence. "I didn t 
 know you were such an admirer of Ellen," she said. 
 
 "Who wouldn t be, given a grain of common sense? 
 She s as far above the common ruck of us as Lou Dillon 
 is above this ten-dollar bargain beast of mine. It 
 needs only an eye in your head to see that." 
 
 Ruth laughed triumphantly. "And you don t spend 
 any emotion over anybody! Oh, Rory!" 
 
 A dull red rose in the girl s scowling face. "Aw, 
 now, don t be foolish!" 
 
 "You don t know emotion when you get it: that s 
 all that is the matter with you," Ruth teased her. 
 "You think Ellen is a wonder, don t you?" 
 
 "I happen to know it, that s all." 
 
 I2 5 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "You wouldn t believe anything against her?" 
 
 "Why should I? It wouldn t be true." 
 
 "And you would adore to do something for her, 
 wouldn t you? Something awfully hard and un 
 pleasant?" 
 
 "You re too foolish, Ruth Chantry. I ll not talk 
 with you." But the red in her cheeks had deepened. 
 
 Ruth crowed happily. "That s affection! That s 
 love! Oh, Rory, you re just as bad as the rest of us. 
 We shall come to your wedding yet!" 
 
 "Naw, naw! I saw enough of marriage to last me 
 my life before my dear father was mercifully relieved 
 of his earthly cares by the kick of a horse. I told you 
 I had a kindness for horses," she added with wicked 
 pensiveness. 
 
 "You dreadful girl!" laughed Ruth. 
 
 "That s all right," said Rory, and her mouth looked 
 grim. "There s a lot of things you don t know, Ruth 
 Chantry." 
 
 "Tell me some of them." 
 
 She shook her head. "Keep canaries in their cages, 
 say I. I ve been sparrowing around in the dirt all my 
 days, and I m none the better for it." 
 
 "I m no canary!" A quick contraction of her 
 arms showed a flash of some obscure feeling. "Some 
 times I feel more like a tiger," she exclaimed, frowning. 
 
 "You re fire in the straw," was the sober answer. 
 
 "Quick and hot and then all over?" she interpreted 
 without much interest. 
 
 "Just that." 
 
 126 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Sometimes I feel like an eagle in the air," chanted 
 Ruth, remembering with delight an old darkey song of 
 her childhood. She sang it exultingly: 
 
 "Sometimes I feel like an eagle in the air, 
 Feel like an eagle in the air! 
 
 Sometimes I feel like a mournin dove:" 
 
 her sweet, high voice, suddenly plaintive, came back 
 from the hill above to the silent riders following: 
 
 "Sometimes I feel like a mournin dove, 
 Sometimes I feel like a mournin dove, 
 Feel like a mournin dove: 
 
 Sometimes I feel like a motherless chile:" 
 she crooned it over and over: 
 
 "Feel like a motherless chile, 
 Feel like a motherless chile!" 
 
 Amsden, glancing at Ellen, saw that her lips were 
 set in a sorrowful line. " Poor little Ruth," came from 
 his heart, but before it was spoken her laugh, fresh 
 and joyous, followed the haunting notes. After all, 
 why poor Ruth ? She was probably happier than any 
 of them. Why did he persistently find her pathetic ? 
 
 The prospect of a three hours ride with Ellen 
 interested Amsden more than he thought best to betray 
 in the face of her obvious indifference. This was so 
 complete that he wondered presently if the true name 
 for it were not hostility; surely thorough indifference 
 
 127 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 would have made more effort to be friendly. After 
 two or three topics had been killed with courteous 
 commonplace, he gave up and rode beside her in an 
 abstraction that was presently as deep as her own. 
 He knew why he was down on her, or had been before 
 that mock burial in the woods had blurred his impres 
 sions and his judgment; was she down on him merely 
 because she had felt the unspoken ciritcism, or for 
 himself? His revery led him to the eternal mystery 
 of human attractions and antagonisms, out of which 
 he finally made one more attempt at conversation. 
 
 "Rory is a strange little person," he began. "Do 
 you really believe she is as detached as she seems? I 
 think she might be capable of a big devotion kept 
 very secret, of course." 
 
 The long silence seemed to have tempered Ellen s 
 mood; she answered with a note of interest. 
 
 "I don t know. I don t pretend to understand her. 
 She has a certain dry kindness, but I doubt if she has 
 much what people call heart." 
 
 "I am not so sure. Poor child, how she must have 
 been batted about. I always have a sense of dreadful, 
 devastating experiences in her past. She is a good 
 hater. I would give something really to find her out." 
 
 "Why?" It was an aggressive monosyllable, but 
 he ignored the tone. 
 
 "Because I have a passionate curiosity about my 
 fellow creatures," he answered placidly. "Haven t 
 you? Don t you long to listen at their moral key 
 holes?" 
 
 128 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "I don t think I am analytical;" Ellen s voice im 
 plied that she was thankful for it. "I have a strong 
 interest in my fellow creatures lives and problems; I 
 doubt if that is the sort of interest you mean, though." 
 
 "I don t see how you can understand their lives and 
 problems if you ignore their psychology." Amsden s 
 friendly patience was rather irritating, a fact of which 
 he was fully aware. 
 
 "What do you do with all this deep understanding 
 after you have got it?" she asked impatiently. 
 
 "Why, I sit and think about it. It is vastly inter 
 esting." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "Then I go out and get some more to think about." 
 He knew that he was caricaturing himself, but her 
 scorn of the dilettante drove him to a perverse assump 
 tion of the attitude. 
 
 "Ah, yes. No doubt that is amusing." Her profile 
 showed that she was ready to drop the subject, and 
 him as well, but he persisted. 
 
 "It is deeply exciting. And I think I may get a 
 new science out of it some day the science of human 
 chemistry." 
 
 She evidently did not want to show interest, but 
 as he relapsed into meditation, she presently brought 
 out an unwilling, "And what would that be?" 
 
 "It would begin with a table of human elements. 
 Every person, of course, is made up of a combination 
 of these, and, by referring to the table, you could give 
 him his formula. Then suppose I wanted to go into 
 
 129 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 partnership with a person; I would take his formula 
 and mine and in a few moments work out the chemical 
 effect of these elements on each other fusion, explo 
 sion, whatever it might be. And so we could shake 
 hands on it and give it up, or go ahead and prosper, 
 according to what we discovered. Think of the hope 
 less attempts at combination it would save. She was 
 actually smiling. 
 
 "I suppose one would go to have one s formula 
 taken or corrected every few years, just as one if 
 vaccinated," she suggested. 
 
 "Of course. And the formulas would all be regis 
 tered. No one could conceal his; the word dupe* 
 would disappear from the language." 
 
 "But there would be an end to drama," she objected. 
 "The heroine would look up the villain s formula in 
 the first act, and then where would your play be?" 
 
 " Oh, we should have a new order of play, and I am 
 sure it is time. I am tired of the duped lady, myself." 
 
 For some reason, the interest that had lighted her 
 face was abruptly withdrawn. She turned away. 
 
 "I doubt if even formulas would save her," she said 
 from a long distance. An impatient challenge, a de 
 mand to know why she met him this way, was on 
 Amsden s lips; but a turn of the road revealed Mr. 
 Gilfillan riding to meet them, and the change in Ellen 
 showed him and his subject forgotten. She rode for 
 ward with alert interest and her eyes searched the 
 homely, earnest face. 
 
 "Well? "she greeted him. 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 " Nothing wrong here, M z Roderick. Mr. Amsden, 
 how do you do, sir ? I thought you might have some 
 thing for me to do, so I rode this way on the chance." 
 His compassionate little eyes met Ellen s for a moment, 
 and Amsden divined that he had heard of that night 
 visit to the camp. Ellen evidently saw it too. 
 
 "I am glad you came," she said with quiet warmth. 
 " There are several things I want to talk over with 
 you." 
 
 "Then suppose I ride on ahead out of your way," 
 Amsden suggested, though he would have given much 
 to stay and hear. 
 
 "It would not interest you," Ellen assented, and he 
 went on feeling rather lonely and left out, and not a 
 little irritated. It would not "interest" him; she 
 would have spoken just so to Christine. She knew 
 better, but she wanted to be rid of him. 
 
 He forgot his irritation presently in the pleasure of 
 the ride; even the hot side-hill stretch that followed 
 the cool beauty of the wood road had its charm, the 
 charm of savagery. He found Wallace in the village, 
 where he had returned to leave his horse, so he left 
 his own and the two walked on together whistling light 
 opera, thoroughly content with life. 
 
 At the turning where the road to the cabin branched 
 off, they came suddenly upon a very pale young woman 
 seated against the bank. A wagon with a broken 
 shaft held the centre of the road, while a nervous, 
 panting horse was fastened to a tree near by. Rory s 
 left arm was carefully supported in her right hand. 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 The light opera ceased abruptly. 
 
 "Well, what on earth!" exclaimed Wallace as they 
 scrambled down from the bank, startling the horse to 
 fresh plunging. Rory managed a dim smile. 
 
 "He didn t get away from me, anyhow," she said. 
 "Ruth is all right I had left her up at the house." 
 
 "But what happened? Automobile?" 
 
 " Twas my own fault. I was mooney and he 
 climbed the bank on me I spilled out." 
 
 "And you re hurt?" 
 
 " Oh, I lit on my feet all right, but he kicked my arm 
 while I was untangling him and I guess it s broke. 
 Could you help me get him home?" 
 
 " We ll get you home first," exclaimed Wallace. " He 
 can jolly well wait." They insisted on putting her 
 into the wagon and drew her to the Dorn cottage. 
 Her mother came running out, tearful and excited. 
 
 "Now, Rory, didn t I know you d kill yourself some 
 day ! What is it, child ? If you will drive wild beasts ! 
 Can you lift her down, Mr. Wallace, dear? Let me 
 take her feet. Oh, Rory, I ought never to have let 
 you. I ll run for Dr. Pocock myself." Rory had 
 grown very white, and Wallace and Amsden would 
 have carried her to her room, but she insisted on 
 walking. She stopped abruptly. 
 
 "I ll not have that windbag of a Pocock," she said 
 with spirit. " Get Dr. Ellen she s good enough for 
 me. Don t run, now," she added as Amsden started 
 away. Then her eyes closed, and she let Wallace lift 
 her on to her bed without protest. He stood beside 
 
 132 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 her, patting her hand in helpless kindliness, while 
 Mrs. Dorn fluttered about, bringing haphazard offer 
 ings for the patient s comfort. In a very short time 
 they heard Ellen s firm step on the porch. Rory 
 looked up with her usual grin. 
 
 "Well, Doctor, here I am, you see. Now, Mama, 
 you go sit by the window and concentrate. And if 
 you don t mind, just concentrate on the other arm 
 this one s got trouble enough. Thank you, Mr. 
 Wallace." 
 
 "Oh, I ll stay and see you through it," said Wallace, 
 taking her right hand in a comfortable grip. 
 
 "Well, if twould interest you. I ll not holler," she 
 promised humorously. And she kept her word, 
 though the sympathetic Wallace looked limp by the 
 time the work was finished. 
 
 "Gee! You ve got sand," he exclaimed, when her 
 fingers finally relaxed their grip. "I should have 
 made the welkin ring." Rory s spirit was still uncon- 
 quered. 
 
 "Ah, well, you re only a man," she murmured. 
 
 Amsden brought back the uneasy horse, fed and 
 bedded him, not without difficulty. He enjoyed the 
 struggle, enjoyed the dominion of his will and voice 
 over the powerful brute. The superiority of man to 
 all created beings was pleasantly upon him as he sat 
 on the steps half an hour later, awaiting Ellen s reap 
 pearance. Perhaps a touch of this consciousness 
 showed in his outlines, for Ellen s face changed a 
 little at sight of him, the serenely humane gravity of 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 work well done giving place to a slightly ironical 
 smile. 
 
 "Rory is worried about the horse," she said. "Do 
 you think you could " her glance passed over his 
 fresh linen, smooth hair, and generally neat aspect 
 "get someone to bring him back?" she finished. 
 
 "Someone did," sa^i Amsde.n, reading the look 
 perfectly; "and I believe he has been watered and fed 
 and tucked up for the night. JHow^ is she?" 
 
 "A broken arm isn t pleasant. Still, it is a simple 
 break. She won t l^e laid i\p lon^." Her eyes turned 
 to the dusty, unkempt yard* troacfei hard and bare, 
 littered with bits of rusty harness, stray cart wheels, 
 horseshoes and divers old bones, at one of which a 
 half-grown cur was gnawing with arched back and 
 clamped tail . " What a looking place, she commented : 
 "I should really enjoy taking hold and clearing 
 it up." 
 
 "Suppose we do," said Amsden. He surprised an 
 incredulous laugh out of her. 
 
 "It would not hurt me," she said with an expressive 
 glance from him to her shabby denim skirt. 
 
 "That is easily fixed if you are not too tired?" 
 
 "Tired ? Why should I be ? I ride as much as that 
 every day." 
 
 "Very well. Find something to collect rubbish in: 
 I will be back in two minutes." 
 
 He hurried into the house, laughing silently at her 
 astonished expression. A glance from the window 
 showed her obediently comparing the efficacy of two 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 broken fruit baskets. He shook his head at her from 
 the shelter of the curtain. 
 
 "I ve found the treatment you need, my good Ellen," 
 he murmured. "You will be friends with me yet." 
 But there was only businesslike alertness in his face 
 when he came back to her, in clothes that had seen 
 service. 
 
 They established a pile of rubbish that would burn, 
 and Amsden dug a hole behind the barn where the 
 rest might be buried ; tools and properties worth saving 
 were stored in a shed. A subdued gaiety crept into 
 their voices. The joy of sheer bodily work set smiling 
 curves about Ellen s mouth; her eyes were cleared of 
 their hostile reserve. Amsden wondered at her strength, 
 and was exhilarated with a boyish desire to prove his 
 own. When all the rubbish had been cleared away, 
 he set her to sweeping and raking while he pumped up 
 water to sprinkle. 
 
 Wallace, plump and pink and clean, appeared on the 
 doorstep, and his amazed voice made them both laugh. 
 
 "Well, what in hell! Excuse me, Ellen, but what 
 do you think you re doing?" 
 
 "These are professional services," explained Amsden. 
 "There s another bucket, if you want to help." 
 
 "Thank you, no. I will hold Rory s hand in this 
 emergency, but I m darned if I ll wash her back yard. 
 I think you re both crazy! Stop raising that dust till 
 I get by I am going up the hill after refined society." 
 He paused to look back at them in mild disgust. " You 
 are sights" he commented. 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 They looked at each other and laughed acknowledg 
 ment: they undeniably were "sights." Amsden threw 
 a final pail of water, then perched on the well-curb 
 and took out a cigarette. 
 
 " Suppose we contemplate our labours," he sug 
 gested. She evidently was not sorry to sit down. 
 The last sunbeams, coming in long lances be 
 tween the western peaks, lingered on their finished 
 work. 
 
 "Aren t order and cleanness the most beautiful 
 things in the world 1" she exclaimed. 
 
 "But I don t like brand newness," Amsden 
 objected. 
 
 "Oh, no: I should choose a dusted and well- 
 ordered antiquity." They smiled at having found 
 a common meeting-ground. "I don t suppose Rory 
 will appreciate it, but it will be a daily pleasure 
 to me." 
 
 "Did she tell you how the accident came about? 
 It seems incredible that Rory should be spilled out, 
 and on a good road." 
 
 "I know it. She would only say that she was 
 mooney, and that the horse cut off the corner, sending 
 the wagon up the bank. She is an impenetrable little 
 thing: we shall not know any more than she wants us 
 to." 
 
 "I was fortunate in meeting you so soon: I was afraid 
 you might have stopped somewhere with Gilfillan." 
 He meant to stop there, but the latent antagonism that 
 was always impelling him to force issues with Ellen, 
 
 136 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 to break through conventional surfaces and demand 
 frankness from her, made him go on: "I hope he had 
 no more trouble to report." 
 
 " Trouble?" her quick look was a question. 
 
 "Yes: I suppose Spaulding is making it very hard 
 for you." 
 
 "Oh, not very," was the defensive answer. He felt 
 the door shut in his face and waited in dignified silence, 
 intending that she should repent. It came quicker 
 than he had expected. "Yes; he is making it very hard 
 indeed," she amended gravely. "The people here are 
 ignorant, and the new doctor has been adroit in making 
 capital out of this." 
 
 "They haven t all gone back on you?" 
 
 "Some have stayed loyal, but the majority have 
 gone over to him." 
 
 "Well, doesn t that rather set you free?" he asked 
 after a pause. 
 
 "Free?" 
 
 He turned and faced her. " Don t you ever want to 
 go back to the city? To your friends and some life 
 of your own? How can a woman like you expect to 
 be satisfied here, year after year?" 
 
 "Satisfied! I don t expect it. If I can just keep 
 myself quiet " She broke off, but there was un 
 mistakable longing in her eyes, lifted to the western 
 horizon. "I stay because I must," she added in a 
 low voice. "Don t make it harder for me." 
 
 The last lance of sunlight was cut off and instantly 
 a chill seemed to pour out of the shadows. She rose. 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "You must not sit there without a coat," she said. 
 They were back at plain, matter-of-fact surfaces as 
 she turned away. Amsden went in pondering. "If I 
 can just keep myself quiet " Someway, that had 
 not sounded like missionary zeal. 
 
 138 
 
XI 
 
 WHY Rory should have had an accident, with a 
 tired horse, on an open road Rory, whose skill with 
 half-broken colts and unmanageable bronchos had 
 made her famous throughout the region remained a 
 mystery. On their arrival from the camp, Ruth had 
 gone straight up to bed, leaving Christine to help take 
 the things out of the wagon. She had seen no signs of 
 "mooniness" on the long drive, nor could Christine 
 throw any light, though she held herself somewhat 
 aloof from the subject and answered impatiently when 
 appealed to. 
 
 "Of course, I talked with her when I took out the 
 things, just as I should with anybody," she exclaimed. 
 "She seemed to me rather rude and snappy, but no 
 more so than she always is. I am not at all surprised 
 that she had a smash- up with that beast; I m only 
 thankful that Ruth got home alive." 
 
 "That seems to settle it," murmured Wallace, and 
 the discussion dropped. 
 
 Mrs. Dorn, who was a reed to every wind of gossip, 
 worried persistently that Dr. Pocock had not at least 
 had an eye on the setting of Rory s arm. 
 
 "You mark my words, Rory Dorn, you ll have one 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 arm shorter than the other, or crooked, or something," 
 Amsden heard her holding forth as he came down 
 stairs the morning after the accident. "I ve nothing 
 against Dr. Ellen I don t for a minute believe she 
 meant to let that little Spaulding girl die. But it 
 stands to reason that a smart man like Dr. Pocock " 
 
 "Oh, Mama, let up! I wouldn t trust Pocock with 
 a sick chicken," was the emphatic interruption. "This 
 town has gone silly over him. Just concentrate on the 
 young gentlemen s breakfast now, or they ll be holler 
 ing for it. Pocock huh!" 
 
 The utter contempt of her tone made Amsden smile 
 to himself. The man had impressed him unpleasantly 
 in their casual meetings, and it interested him that 
 Rory had escaped the glamour cast over the neighbour 
 hood. There were brains behind that shrewd little 
 face. After breakfast he turned to the dingy and 
 airless coop known as the parlour, where she was es 
 tablished on a four-foot sofa, never intended for ease. 
 Her eyes were closed, and he paused in the doorway, 
 startled by the expression of her small, brown face. 
 It was never a genial face, but usually it carried a look 
 of dry cheerfulness, as though its possessor found a 
 measure of amusement in this arid business of living. 
 To-day, seen off guard, it looked wholly, desolately 
 sad. Amsden tried to think it was physical pain he 
 saw; but the bitter line about the mouth came from no 
 ill of the body. 
 
 The look vanished as she opened her eyes and greeted 
 him with an ironical grin. 
 
 140 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Visiting the sick and afflicted that s good of 
 you," she said. " Where s your jelly? They took 
 jelly to the invalid in the only book I ever read." 
 
 "Do you mean that literally, Rory that you have 
 read only one book?" he asked, sitting down beside her. 
 
 "One story book: twas more than enough. Mama s 
 daft over them, and I had to read it to her one time 
 when her eyes were bad. I should think anyone s 
 eyes would go bad over such rot." 
 
 "What was the name?" 
 
 "How should I know? I never looked to see. 
 Twas in paper covers, and there was a picture of two 
 young fools eloping on the outside. Not for me! 
 The Horse Record gives me all the literature I need." 
 
 "I am afraid it won t, now that you are laid up. 
 Suppose I bring you down some good stories not 
 rot from the cabin: will you try them? It will be 
 better than lying here thinking of dismal things." 
 
 She sent him a quick, suspicious glance. "And 
 why? If there s dismal things happening and I 
 don t see much else why not think about em ? I m 
 no hand for dope, myself : I take my bad times the way 
 they come." 
 
 "I thought you had more sense. You might as well 
 refuse mattress and pillow because the ground is hard." 
 
 "It s no harder than this sofa, let me tell you! I d 
 as soon have the ground as any pillow that comes my 
 way. No; this world s a bad, ugly place, Mr. Amsden, 
 and I take no pleasure in seeing it dressed up in stories 
 to please young ladies." 
 
 141 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "How can you call it wholly bad and ugly, when it 
 holds such people as Dr. Ellen, for instance?" 
 
 It might have been a pang from her arm that made 
 Rory s eyes close and her mouth contract. 
 
 " Oh, yes, she s good. Nothing no one could ever 
 make me think Dr. Ellen wasn t good," she said 
 hotly. 
 
 "And Gilfillan?" 
 
 "And Gilfillan that s right." She opened her 
 eyes again with a faint smile. "And Mama s good in 
 her way, poor little goose! She d ve sat up all night 
 concentrating on me if I hadn t told her the pain was 
 all gone. She felt lots worse about it than I did." 
 
 "It is a living mystery, Rory, how you came to spill 
 out." 
 
 She scowled. "Everybody s a fool once in a while, 
 ain t they? I should think I was paying hard enough 
 without being pestered to death with questions. The 
 black has got to be turned out this morning: there s no 
 knowing when I ll touch reins again." 
 
 "I will see to it." 
 
 "Well, thank you. You might go do it now," was 
 the ungracious answer; and Rory turned her face to 
 the back of the sofa as though weary of entertainment. 
 Her visitor felt amazingly young and snubbed as he 
 went out. 
 
 The broken arm brought Ellen frequently to the 
 house, and her brief meetings there with Amsden 
 gradually took on a character of their own an in 
 timacy half unwilling on her part, and of which their 
 
 142 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 meetings at the cabin gave no sign. He frankly 
 watched for her, but hid the satisfaction with which 
 day after day he saw her linger her hand on the 
 saddle, her face often turned from him in the intention 
 of mounting, and yet held minute after minute by those 
 abrupt plunges into intercourse. 
 
 Christine and Ruth visited the invalid with cheerful 
 assiduousness. They usually found her on a shaky 
 little porch, so narrow that they had to sit in a row as 
 on a street car, or perch on the slim railing at the risk 
 of a tumble into the yard beneath. It was an attrac 
 tively tidy yard now, and Rory frequently looked from 
 its severe orderliness to Amsden s neat and scholarly 
 outlines with an expression of wonder on her sardonic 
 little face. "Well, I never!" seemed to be the daily 
 sum of her meditations. After the first ten minutes 
 Christine was apt to forget the invalid, turning her 
 back to carry on gaily with Wallace, in spite of Ruth s 
 gentle attempts to keep Rory included. Rory s face 
 at such times was worth watching; it suggested the 
 serene contempt of a tiger dozing with eyes half 
 closed. 
 
 To the general amusement, Ying jogged down the 
 trail nearly every day with some offering, which he 
 put down by Rory with a stern, "You eat im do 
 you good." His admiration for Rory was equalled 
 only by his withering contempt for her mother. He 
 arrived one afternoon just as the latter was bringing 
 Rory her early supper and stood staring at the tray 
 with a yellow scorn that made Mrs. Dorn fidget ner- 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 vously and tip over a glass of water. Rory serenely 
 plunged a fork into the pale grey stew, but Ying could 
 not stand it. 
 
 "Here! You let im alone!" he snorted, and sweep 
 ing up the tray, disappeared into the house. Mrs. 
 Dorn fluttered distressfully after him, but did not dare 
 go into the kitchen, where he could be heard striding 
 between pantry and stove and slamming pots about 
 with an occasional "H h!" of disgust that nearly drove 
 her into hysterics. 
 
 "Rory, whatever will I do?" she gasped for the 
 seventh time. "That heathen is " 
 
 The kitchen door opened and she scuttled out of 
 the way as Ying reappeared bearing high in front of 
 him a supper such as that house had never seen before, 
 though it was made up of such familiar elements as 
 eggs, toast, and hot chocolate. 
 
 "Your Mama, she cook for the chickens!" he mut 
 tered, and strode away, still outraged. 
 
 "Food s food," said Rory, philosophically. "Better 
 have some, Mama." 
 
 "Not I. Every egg in the house, and that s the 
 cream for the young gentlemen s coffee you re using 
 up, Rory Dorn. Whatever they ll say " 
 
 " But leave a kiss within the cup, and I ll not ask 
 for cream, " chanted Wallace s voice as he came round 
 the corner of the house. "Rory, I ve come to entertain 
 you," he announced. "What will you take? Con 
 versation ? Circus ? Charades ? 
 
 "Well, if you feel that energetic, you might see if 
 144 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 there is an egg or two for your breakfast in the barn," 
 Rory suggested. 
 
 "That s too easy. Give me something really hard," 
 he said hastily, seating himself on the steps and using 
 his hat as a fan. "Something so hard you have to 
 do it sitting down." 
 
 "Well, I dare say gassing here with me, and the 
 others off somewheres else, is hard enough in its way," 
 she commented. 
 
 "Oh, they re coming," was the ingenuous answer. 
 "They re all down in the village buying things. Miss 
 O Hara was not quite ready to leave, so I strolled on 
 ahead." His tone had unconsciously become urban, 
 formal. 
 
 "Had a scrap?" said Rory. 
 
 An unwilling smile grew to an acknowledging 
 chuckle. "You re too sharp for me, Rory," he con 
 fessed. "We did." 
 
 "What was the trouble?" 
 
 "Hanged if I know. I guess it was just for the fun 
 of making up again; but I fooled her by walking off. 
 The next move is up to her." 
 
 "She ll be equal to it, I m thinking." 
 
 "Trust her." He laughed comfortably. "She s a 
 great girl, Rory." 
 
 "I ve no doubt," was the expressionless answer. 
 
 "It s funny about girls," he went on. "You can 
 know one for years, like her a lot and all that, and 
 then, all of a sudden well, there you are!" he con 
 cluded confidentially. 
 
 US 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 " So they tell me." 
 
 He turned to her with unwonted seriousness. " Now, 
 R jry, you listen to Uncle Willie," he began. "Men 
 may be a bad lot, but they happen to be the best there 
 is going in that line; and you d better realize it before 
 it is too late. Hang it, there isn t anything better than 
 marriage in the long run; you re going to want a home 
 of your own and some kids, and you ll be a darned 
 sour old woman if you don t get them. What you 
 need is to get busy and corner some decent chap and 
 make the best of him, instead of slinging rocks whenever 
 a man is mentioned. You believe your uncle!" 
 
 Rory s attentive gravity had a mischievous cast, and 
 Wallace closed his oration with a hasty glance over 
 his shoulder, to find Christine standing at the foot of 
 the steps with clasped hands and rapt eyes uplifted, 
 while Ruth and Amsden, seated on a box, listened 
 with equal fervour. 
 
 "Oh, Willie, those inspired words will stay in my 
 heart forever," breathed Christine. Wallace was 
 chuckling, wholly unabashed. 
 
 "Well, it s straight goods. I am glad you heard it 
 old rubber-soled sneakers!" 
 
 " Man is the best thing there is going, " repeated 
 Christine, mounting slowly, a step at a time. "How 
 simple, yet how complete." 
 
 "Oh, come of! !" 
 
 " You need to get busy and corner some decent 
 chap " She made a sudden dart at him, both 
 arms out. Wallace scrambled to his feet and dodged 
 
 146 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 behind Rory s chair with a shrill howl of, "Help!" 
 The little porch rocked with the excitement that 
 followed, and Rory sat patiently in the centre of 
 the chase, her eyes half closed, her mouth twisted 
 wearily down at one corner. 
 
 Amsden and Ruth exchanged small, mischievous 
 glances that deepened into smiles of understanding. 
 Moving very quietly, they left their box and stole 
 away. Two minutes later they were established in a 
 small hay-field, pleasantly shut in by a stunted oak 
 tree overhead and the sharp upward slope of the land. 
 In this region of grand views, it was a relief now and 
 then to see nothing bigger than haycocks. 
 
 "Not but that I should be very happy to stay and 
 amuse Rory," Amsden said, scooping out a hollow for 
 her in the hay; "only I have my doubts of our suc 
 ceeding on just those lines." 
 
 "She thinks we are awful idiots, most of the time," 
 Ruth assented, settling herself with a little wiggle of 
 satisfaction. "To tell the truth, I don t think she 
 likes Christine very much." 
 
 "Well, not as much as Wallace does," he suggested, 
 and they both laughed, though Ruth sighed a moment 
 later. 
 
 "Do you suppose it is the real thing?" she asked 
 wistfully. 
 
 " Oh, real enough for practical purposes." 
 
 Amsden instinctively took a cheerfully matter-of- 
 fact tone before questions of sentiment, with Ruth. 
 There were times when she gave him the uneasy 
 
 147 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 impression of a person carrying a full cup which the 
 slightest touch would cause to spill over, with disas 
 trous results. Then she would laugh whole-heartedly, 
 throw herself headlong into some plan of amusement, 
 and he would be ashamed of his momentary suspicions. 
 She bloomed under his approval, and the little-girl 
 quality of her happiness made it hard for him not to 
 show her open affection; but a dawning recognition of 
 an emotional nature full grown and reckless kept him 
 scrupulously practical. She was sensitive to his tone, 
 wholly docile in her desire to please him. 
 
 " Christine and I have a perfectly beautiful secret," 
 she said, with a prompt change of subject. "It will be 
 the nicest thing that ever happened. Will you cross 
 your heart not to tell ? Well, then. When she leaves 
 here she is going down to Del Monte for a week, and 
 I am to go with her!" 
 
 "Good for you! How did you persuade your 
 sister?" 
 
 "Didn t. Ellen has nothing to do with this party. 
 Christine has has invited me for the whole trip and 
 everything." She looked at him anxiously. "Do you 
 think it is dreadful of me to take it ? She truly wants 
 me." 
 
 " Of course not I think it is splendid. You would 
 be foolish to refuse." 
 
 She brightened happily. "And it is the best time 
 for Del Monte. Christine is going to lend me some 
 of her summer clothes; she has loads, and it doesn t 
 matter if thin things are a little big. We have been 
 
 148 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 trying them on, and I did look so nice. There is an 
 embroidered blue linen but you won t be there." 
 
 "I might come down over Sunday." 
 
 "Oh, will you? Will you, truly?" 
 
 He smiled. "If I can, my dear." 
 
 "You are making fun of me; but I am so happy, I 
 don t care." 
 
 "What does your sister think of it?" 
 
 Her face clouded. "She doesn t know yet, and you 
 are not to tell her you promised. When the time 
 comes, I shall just say to her that I am going. I don t 
 see why I should ask her permission, as if I were a 
 child. Do you?" 
 
 "Of course not. And I really don t see why she 
 should object." But he had a premonition that Ellen 
 would object. Ruth evidently shared it. 
 
 "She always objects to my getting any fun out of 
 life," she said impatiently. "And the worst of it is, 
 if she makes a fuss, it will dampen my fun. I shall 
 go just the same, but I ll feel horrid. It worries me to 
 death." 
 
 "Why don t you sound her about it? Perhaps you 
 are worrying for nothing." 
 
 "I can t sound people. I always look so guilty." 
 
 "Shall I?" 
 
 "Oh, will you without letting her know?" 
 
 "Yes; I think I can." 
 
 "You are so good and kind." Her eyes were lifted 
 to his with an intensity that troubled him. "What 
 should I do without you ! You re always so thought- 
 
 149 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 f ul and dear and careful of me. I can t tell 
 you She caught his hand in both of hers and 
 held it for a moment against her blouse. " What shall 
 I do without you?" He could feel the soft little 
 beating of her heart. Amsden was human; but he 
 gave the hands a frank and friendly shake, then drew 
 his own away. 
 
 1 You re a nice girl," he said, smiling at her. 
 
 "I thought I heard voices." Ellen was looking 
 down on them from the other side of the haycock. 
 "Do you realize that it is supper time? Rory and I 
 have been waiting hours she said you were all 
 calling on her somewhere." 
 
 Amsden, realizing only the temptation resisted, 
 thanked his good angel as he rose. "We thought the 
 other two callers would be entertainment enough," he 
 said, brushing the hay from the back of his coat. 
 
 " But they had vanished, too. I have just discovered 
 them sitting in the hay-loft. They said they were 
 looking for eggs." 
 
 They strolled back together and Ellen showed herself 
 unconcernedly friendly; yet Amsden was conscious that 
 the barrier was up again between them, the barrier of 
 reserve, half resentful, half anxious, that their after 
 noon of hard bodily labour had seemed partly to over 
 come. Obviously, then, she had seen just enough 
 over the haycock to misunderstand, and was nursing 
 her unwillingness that he should fall in love with 
 Ruth. In his irritation he almost wished that he had 
 done that very thing. 
 
 150 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "You can t run the universe, my tryannical young 
 friend," he thought, with a cool eye on her slightly 
 flushed face; she was unmistakably the Viking figure 
 head now, and aimed towards battle. She looked up 
 and, catching the glance, returned it steadily. It was 
 a silent declaration of war. 
 
 Wallace, somewhat sheepish, was explaining to Rory 
 the difficulties of rinding eggs in a loft, Christine beside 
 him smiling consciously under demure eyelids. Rory 
 on the porch above listened grimly, assenting with a 
 dry, " That s so!" when he paused. After they had 
 all gone she rose with a bored sigh. 
 
 "Poor fool of a man!" she muttered. 
 
XII 
 
 THAT evening proved unusually warm. For once 
 the sun seemed to have left enough of its quality in the 
 rocks and pines to defeat the mountain chill, and a 
 windless moon, peering over the peaks, filled the valley 
 with its calm and lonely light. 
 
 Ellen was silent, almost severe, during supper, and 
 Amsden found her grave eyes on him more than once. 
 As soon as the meal was over she left the room, and, 
 looking out of the window, he saw her pacing up and 
 down the road beneath. He stepped out and joined 
 her. 
 
 "May I come?" he began. "It is far too good a 
 night for the house." 
 
 She assented with something of an effort, and they 
 walked on in silence, broken by an occasional per 
 functory comment on the blackness of the shadows, or 
 the aromatic odours that seemed to lie across the road 
 in warm currents as they wound slowly down towards 
 the town. 
 
 "I should like to see some of the really wild country 
 back of here," Amsden commented presently, feeling 
 curiously tense, as though a struggle lay just ahead. 
 "Who would be a good guide?" 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Ned Spaulding is really the best; he has hunted 
 all over this region. But I doubt if he would be a 
 very good companion now." 
 
 He welcomed the chance for a personal opening. 
 
 "Is he still making trouble for you?" He half 
 expected a snub, but she answered frankly. 
 
 "More or less. But I shall beat in the long run. 
 You see, Dr. Pocock really is ignorant; he will make 
 some bad blunder." 
 
 "I don t know but that a few days in the wilds 
 would do Spaulding good," Amsden suggested. "It 
 might straighten him out." 
 
 "Yes," she assented. "He has wholly neglected his 
 work. He really needs exercise." 
 
 They turned and went slowly back. The lights of 
 the cabin reminded Amsden of Ruth and her new 
 project. 
 
 "Miss O Hara says that she is going to Del Monte 
 after leaving here," he began boldly. 
 
 "Yes." Her tone was guarded, as though she 
 suspected where he was leading, but he went on in 
 trepidly. 
 
 "I wish your little sister could be transported there; 
 she would get such solid happiness out of it. 
 
 "No doubt," said Ellen, drily. "But I am afraid 
 it is not practicable this year." 
 
 "I wish it might be," he persisted, with a gentleness 
 that apologized for the persistence. "It would be 
 such delirious joy to her." 
 
 "Mr. Amsden," said Ellen, stopping abruptly in the 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 road, "it is your opinion that I don t care enough for 
 my sister s happiness, isn t it?" Amsden met her 
 eyes with a tightening of his hands in his coat pockets, 
 but no other sign of disturbance. 
 
 "I don t think you always realize in what her happi 
 ness consists," he answered honestly. 
 
 "And you think that you do care about her happi 
 ness?" 
 
 "I know that I do." They stood facing each other 
 like combatants, the slope of the road putting their 
 eyes on a level. Ellen spoke very quietly: 
 
 "Then why do you go on making her care for you, 
 when you know that you don t care for her, and never 
 will? Is that your idea of increasing her happiness?" 
 
 The shock of the charge sent the colour to Amsden s 
 face. His first impulse was to angry denial, but he 
 waited till he could speak with her own calmness. 
 
 "I think you are unfair to her and to me," he said 
 finally. "I have not made love to your sister." 
 
 She shrugged impatiently. "Oh, not in words, per 
 haps! I dare say you have been careful to avoid 
 incriminating phrases. I have no patience with that 
 kind of masculine honour!" 
 
 "You are absolutely mistaken." 
 
 "I wish I could think so! But what I saw this 
 afternoon well, there is no use going into explana 
 tions. But when you talk about making her happy, 
 it is a little more than I can stand!" 
 
 She turned away and walked swiftly up the hill, 
 leaving Amsden as thoroughly angry as he had ever 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 been in his life. He knew that the charge was an 
 unjust one; that he had taken care of Ruth to the very 
 best of his ability, guarded her scrupulously from her 
 self as well as from his human response to her charm. 
 If she cared and a memory of the sweet, eager face 
 lifted to his made him wince that was beyond his 
 control. No doubt any man who had come into her 
 life just at that time would have been the object of her 
 overwhelming need to love. Only another man might 
 have had the good fortune the good sense, he called 
 it to care in return. A mood of bitter self-contempt 
 followed his anger as he paced up and down in the 
 moonlight. The girl was most lovable; surely it 
 was some dire lack in him that he could not love 
 her. 
 
 The night was very still. Christine and Wallace 
 had disappeared up the trail behind the cabin half an 
 hour before. He had passed and repassed the porch 
 several times before he saw a figure huddled down in 
 a steamer chair. Ellen had gone inside he had 
 heard the sharp closing of the cabin door after her; 
 it must be Ruth. As he hesitated, she lifted her head 
 from her arm and the moonlight fell on a pale and 
 desolate face. She looked at him silently. 
 
 " Dozing?" he asked with an effort at lightness, 
 as he mounted the steps. She turned her eyes 
 away. 
 
 " Ellen went in there, if you are looking for her," 
 she said sullenly, with a jerk of her head towards the 
 open window behind her. 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "But I am not looking for anybody," he declared, 
 longing to run away, yet held by the transparent misery 
 in every line of her aspect. 
 
 "No, you are not looking for anybody," she repeated 
 recklessly. "That is just it. There has not been a 
 moment when you have not made that perfectly 
 clear to me." 
 
 "I don t see why I am being scolded," Amsden pro 
 tested, trying to keep her to lightness; but Ruth would 
 not be checked. 
 
 "It isn t scolding, it is admiration. I have to admire 
 you for the way you have conducted yourself. And 
 that makes it all the worse, don t you see ? For I have 
 no right to be angry. I can t hurl reproaches." Her 
 attempt at a laugh ended in a gasp. "I have to com 
 pliment you on your strength and your discretion," 
 she added bitterly. 
 
 Amsden stood before her sick at heart, but out 
 wardly unmoved. 
 
 "Ruth, don t let a mood run away with you," he 
 said gravely. "You didn t feel this way this after 
 noon, and you won t to-morrow. Go to bed, like a 
 good girl, and see how different everything will seem 
 when it is the sun instead of this abominable moon. 
 It is enough to upset anyone s nerves. Your sister 
 and I fought horribly." 
 
 "But you stayed with her all the evening!" 
 Then the colour rushed into her face and she sat up, 
 smoothing her hair with her hands. "I told you I 
 had all the petty feminine vices," she said with an 
 
 156 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 attempt at an amused tone that wrung his heart. 
 "What you are seeing now is hurt vanity." 
 
 "I suspected as much." They smiled at each other, 
 relieved at this remnant of covering for the naked 
 truth between them. "Good-night, spoilt child." 
 They shook hands almost gaily. He turned to the 
 trail, realizing, not without impatience, that now it 
 would be impossible for him to take the next day s 
 stage, as he had determined after Ellen left him; that 
 would magnify this last interview out of all proportion 
 in Ruth s memory. He must wait a few days and let 
 her prove to him how entirely a matter of transient 
 mood the scene had been. Ellen would probably mis 
 understand his staying. Well, let her! He squared 
 his shoulders and threw back his head; then halted 
 abruptly as a turn of the trail showed him the figure 
 of a man seated in the shadow of a towering boulder 
 just beneath. For an instant it was not easy to go 
 on down this solitude of silver-white crags and ink- 
 black pines, casting ominous shadows; then he stepped 
 unconcernedly into the moonlight, and let himself 
 down a pitch in the path with a hand on a projecting 
 rock and wary eyes ahead. 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Amsden, sir. Don t let me 
 startle you;" it was the welcome voice of Mr. Gilfillan, 
 who rose to meet him. 
 
 "But what are you doing here?" Amsden demanded, 
 with a laugh for his momentary apprehension. Mr. 
 Gilfillan stood gently clasping his little beard, his elbow 
 resting on the back of his hand. 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Well, you see, sir, Ned Spaulding is down in the 
 town this evening, and when it s moonlight, he some 
 times takes the trail home, up by yonder;" he nodded 
 towards the cabin above them. "I reckoned I would 
 just well, fall in with him for a mile or so." 
 
 "You don t mean " Amsden s eyes were turned 
 anxiously to the lights of the cabin "that he would 
 do anything?" 
 
 " Oh, no, sir; surely not. But he s mighty unsettled, 
 poor fellow, and I thought I would just well, fall in 
 with him." 
 
 "If there is any real danger, the man ought to be 
 shut up," Amsden said sharply. 
 
 "Oh, I think not I think not. I m doing all I 
 can, Mr. Amsden. I mean to spare M z Roderick 
 any trouble, but I want to straighten the poor fellow 
 out at the same time. He s worth saving." 
 
 "And so you are sitting here on guard all the even 
 ing!" Amsden stared thoughtfully down the white 
 ness of the valley to the blue-black wall of jagged peaks 
 as the deferred chill of night seemed to rise and roll 
 about them like a vapour. "How you do carry your 
 fellow-beings on your shoulders!" 
 
 "I reckon we re all part of one whole, Mr. Amsden. 
 You just try thinking of yourself as part of one big 
 effort, rather than a little separate effort not hitched 
 to any other, and see if it don t " his arm made a 
 wide sweep "carry you along; make you feel the 
 motion of the earth. It s a mighty good thing to feel, 
 that motion." He was a strange figure on the gaunt 
 
 158 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 mountainside, with his floating hair and homely, 
 likeable face, the little eyes lifted, for once, with the 
 earnestness of his conviction. Amsden felt suddenly 
 crude and young and limited. He said nothing, and 
 they stood in silence until a sound on the trail made 
 them glance significantly at each other, then saunter 
 down to meet the shadow mounting. 
 
 Long hours passed before Amsden could get to 
 sleep that night, but he had forgotten Ruth. His 
 thoughts were all of Ellen angry, troubled thoughts, 
 crossed with persistent anxiety at the memory of Ned 
 Spaulding s sullen face, sharply black and white in the 
 moonlight. The preacher s simple tact at the encoun 
 ter roused his wonder, stirred in him new thoughts that 
 seemed to have been coming to him out of the bigness 
 of the mountains. 
 
 "I am glad I didn t die without knowing Gilfillan," 
 was his conclusion. A floating vision of a Viking ship 
 finally bore him off to sleep. 
 
 159 
 
XIII 
 
 AMSDEN awoke the next morning with a strong sense 
 of depression, a sense of pleasant things spoiled and 
 the holiday ended. It was a soft grey day that would 
 have been charming to him ordinarily, but that seemed 
 only dull and dejected like everything else in his 
 reluctance at mounting to the cabin a reluctance he 
 was ashamed of in the face of the gay serenity Ruth 
 presented. Her eyes met his clearly, without self- 
 consciousness or defiance, her laughter was unmis 
 takably spontaneous. Evidently she had thrown off 
 the mood of the night before as lightly as she did her 
 other moods, whose swift changes from black to bril 
 liant had always been an amazement to him. She and 
 Christine were seated on the floor in a chaos of paper 
 patterns and sewing materials, cutting out garments of 
 blue and white calico with feverish absorption. 
 
 "We have decided to make the world better and 
 happier, and it s great fun," she explained, displaying 
 the front of a child s frock. "This is for the little fat 
 Flannery, so I m allowing that is what you call it 
 when you make a thing bigger than the pattern." 
 
 "And this is for the little thin Flannery," echoed 
 Christine, holding up her creation. Wallace, seated 
 
 160 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 on the piano stool, looked down on them disapprov 
 ingly. 
 
 "Well, I never thought I should see the missionary 
 spirit coming out in you, Christine! It just shows. 
 Are you going to do this all the morning?" 
 
 "All day and all to-morrow." 
 
 "Amsden, I guess we d better go back to Rory. 
 This is no place for us." But Amsden was interested. 
 
 "What started you towards good works so sud 
 denly?" he asked Ruth. 
 
 "A poem in the Gallop Weekly Gazette. It said, 
 
 "When you re feeling somewhat blue, 
 Something for someone else go do. 
 
 Don t you think it s a nice poem? We cut it out at 
 once." 
 
 "I ll bet Ellen wrote it," said Wallace. "Well, I 
 suppose it is a good training for a poor man s wife." 
 
 "What a horrid thought," objected Christine. 
 "Don t ever marry a poor man, Ruth; you would 
 have to watch for him at the window every night. 
 They always do." 
 
 "I think that would be fun," said Ruth, pinning up 
 the fat Flannery sleeves with a capable air. 
 
 "You have a bourgeois soul. How should you like 
 to dine at six? I suppose they do that because they 
 can t afford much lunch and they are too hungry to 
 wait till a decent hour." 
 
 "Not at all; it is because they keep one girl, and she 
 has to get through some time." Ruth s tone of prac- 
 
 161 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 tical experience made them laugh, it was so little 
 congruous with her personality. "I shouldn t mind 
 anything if it was a nice poor man." 
 
 "Good for you, Ruth," declared Wallace. " You re 
 the right stuff; you will get your reward. We ll let 
 Christine keep her old millionnaire." 
 
 "But we will go and visit her," amended Ruth. 
 "Oh, bother that telephone! I wish Ellen would stay 
 home and answer it." She scrambled up and they 
 rilled her absence with the usual perfunctory talk of 
 people too near a telephone conversation to ignore it 
 and too courteous to listen. Presently she broke in 
 on them through the open door with a reproving, 
 "Who has taken the telephone pad?" No one would 
 plead guilty, so after a brief search she came back to 
 her work with a careless, "Oh, well, I shall remember. 
 Christine, I am going to featherstitch my tucks," she 
 added. 
 
 "Oh, Ruth! If I try that, the thin Flannery will be 
 a grown woman before she gets her gown." 
 
 "But think how dear it would look, done in blue 
 cotton. Besides, I shall have to go off and stitch on 
 the machine if I don t and I can t bear to leave. Let s 
 make Mr. Amsden read to us." 
 
 "For pity s sake, do," sighed Wallace. 
 
 Amsden picked up the imperishably funny "Rudder 
 Grange," and a contented half-hour followed, marred 
 only by Christine s incessant whispering about her 
 work. He had laughed himself partly out of the 
 depression with which the day had started when the 
 
 162 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 door opened and Dr. Ellen came in. His rising to 
 his feet was as much an instinct of self-defence as of 
 courtesy. 
 
 "I must interrupt you a moment," she said, and, to 
 Amsden s surprise, her eyes went straight to his with 
 quiet friendliness, a quality they had never expressed 
 before. "Ruth, I don t know when I shall be back; 
 I am going over to Bald Mountain to visit a little with 
 Mrs. Garcia. I have my lunch with me." 
 
 "But it is thirty miles, there and back," Ruth 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "I know. I shall probably be home late; Ying can 
 save me some supper. Good by, everybody." Again 
 Amsden found her eyes turned to his, and now he was 
 certain that they conveyed an intentional message. He 
 felt curiously elated. All his just anger against her 
 was wiped out by this subtle intimation that, for some 
 unknown reason, he was forgiven. He read on me 
 chanically with little attention for the story. Ellen 
 was not capricious, nor had she Ruth s volatility; if 
 she had put away her antagonism, it meant that in 
 some mysterious way he had been exonerated. 
 
 The girls had to be dragged from their work at 
 luncheon time, and Christine insisted on featherstitch- 
 ing in the intervals. She and Ruth chanted in chorus, 
 
 "When you re feeling somewhat blue, 
 Something for someone else go do," 
 
 at every pause. 
 
 "Amsden, we ve got to get in line," Wallace ex- 
 63 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 claimed finally. " Everybody is making the world 
 happier except us. There s Ellen gone off " He 
 was interrupted by an anguished exclamation from 
 Ruth. 
 
 "Oh, I forgot! I forgot Ellen s message!" 
 
 "Was it very important?" asked Amsden. 
 
 "Yes; it was old Mr. Balch. Oh, she will be simply 
 wild!" 
 
 "Wouldn t they have telephoned again if they had 
 needed her so very much?" 
 
 "But they are miles from a telephone." Ruth 
 looked ready to cry. "I shan t dare tell her." 
 
 Amsden consulted his watch. "She has been gone 
 less than an hour and a half ; I don t see why I couldn t 
 overtake her." He rose, buttoning his coat for action. 
 "Ying can saddle while you point out the road to me. 
 Don t let s lose a minute." 
 
 Ruth, for once, was eager to have him go. Ellen 
 had taken the sedate Adam, so that the fleet little 
 chestnut Eve was left for him, and she would certainly 
 ride slowly, the first few miles of so long a trip; the 
 prospect of overtaking her was not too discouraging. 
 Less than five minutes later he was mounting. 
 
 "If a girl and a half rides a mile and a half in an 
 hour and a half," Wallace began, "how long will it 
 take a man and a half on a- But Amsden had 
 ridden off without waiting for the rest of the problem. 
 
 The chance for active effort with some end in view 
 beyond the effort itself was exhilarating. Within the 
 past few days Amsden s refreshed mind and body had 
 
 164 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 begun to chafe at the aimlessness that had at first 
 proved so delicious, at the perpetual "hanging round," 
 as he expressed it. He was not quite ready for the 
 city and his work there; but he was beginning to be 
 impatient for a more grown-up manner of life and for 
 achievement of some sort. The consciousness of an 
 important errand, combined with the amazing prospect 
 of a friendly welcome in its execution, strung him to a 
 tensity of elation that he had not felt in years. The 
 chestnut mare was in wild spirits herself and flew 
 along the road with ears set for mischief, greeting 
 familiar landmarks with snorting affectations of terror 
 that delighted them both and that cost them nothing 
 in speed. They were enjoying themselves so thor 
 oughly that they might have passed a sober brown 
 horse tied before a cottage where the Bald Mountain 
 road branched off from the stage route, if a loud 
 whinny had not startled Eve to a shrill response. 
 Recognizing Adam, Amsden pulled up, frankly disap 
 pointed that his pursuit should have ended at three 
 miles. Ellen evidently saw him, for she came out at 
 once. 
 
 "Am I wanted? I have finished here," she said. 
 
 "I thought I was to have a ten-mile chase at least," 
 he complained, dismounting and feeling in his pockets 
 for the message Ruth had written. 
 
 "They called me in here to set a sprained thumb, 
 and I had to take dinner with them or else hurt feel 
 ings," she explained. The shadow of unwillingness 
 that had hung over any previous friendliness she had 
 
 165 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 shown was wholly gone; her smile was that of a com 
 rade as she took the message and let him strap her 
 medical bag in place. 
 
 It came over two hours ago and we are horribly 
 apologetic for forgetting to give it to you," he said. 
 Her face clouded as she read. 
 
 " Oh, thunder!" she exclaimed. The expression was 
 so unexpected, and so unlike her, that a laugh broke 
 from Amsden. She echoed it ruefully as she mounted. 
 
 "But it is my best patient, my bulwark, my last 
 stand!" she said in humorous desperation. "Pocock 
 has seduced the son and the daughter-in-law, but the 
 old man has stayed by me. And he is the prize patient 
 of Gallop. He pays! Pays well, too. Ruth ought 
 to be !" 
 
 "Pays! Do you mean to say you ever give that a 
 thought?" She had turned her horse down the side 
 road and he accompanied her as a matter of course. 
 
 "Don t you in your work?" 
 
 "Oh, yes rather. But I thought you were too 
 high-minded. I have a terribly exalted idea of your 
 public character," he confessed. 
 
 "I am not too exalted to pay my bills, thank you. 
 Besides, I want to protect the old fellow Pocock will 
 make so much more out of him than I do. He shan t 
 have him!" she added, touching up her horse, who 
 grunted dismally but obeyed. 
 
 "There, I knew it was something more public- 
 spirited than your own profit;" and Amsden sighed. 
 
 "You can call it vanity if that will make you feel 
 166 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 any easier. My pride will be in a white rage if he 
 gets away from me. That wretched Ruth ! The tele 
 phone pad was right there on a chair, and as there 
 was nothing written on it I didn t think to ask her." 
 
 "Do you suppose he is very ill?" 
 
 "Oh, no. He has attacks of indigestion now and 
 then and gets frightened half to death. And this time, 
 you see, when I didn t come there is Pocock s chance 
 at last. The only hope is that he was away. Now we 
 must do a little climbing; I am taking a short cut." 
 
 They passed through a gate and straight up the side 
 of a bald and stony ridge, a few lank cattle staring at 
 them with stupid amazement, then floundering out of 
 their way. The horses mounted with the ease of goats, 
 choosing their own footing, and Ellen, as unconcerned 
 as though in a chair at home, talked to him for the 
 first time in their acquaintance with her face turned 
 fully towards him. 
 
 "The Balch family has been nearly rent in two 
 between Dr. Pocock and me," she explained. "Old 
 Peter is a fine, sturdy, pious old German he is the 
 big lumber man, up here; and young Peter is a gentle, 
 sentimental, pious young German who would probably 
 have been a minor poet in another sphere of life. 
 For lack of that outlet he is rapidly becoming a hypo 
 chondriac." 
 
 "How did Pocock get hold of him?" 
 
 "Oh, easily. It needed only a little solemn interest 
 in his symptoms, a little talking aside with his wife 
 about his delicately balanced constitution, and they 
 
 167 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 were both ready to swear by him. Ah! How I hate 
 the tricks of the trade!" she ended with a blow of her 
 fist on her high pommel as they scrambled up the last 
 steep pitch, and paused on the top of the ridge. Below 
 them lay a deep canon, wide at this point but narrow 
 ing sharply to the northwest. The slope on their side 
 was thick with yellow pine and tremulous aspen, but 
 the opposite ridge was fairly open and showed the cut 
 of a road along its flank. From the hidden bottom of 
 the gorge the sound of a creek came faintly. 
 
 "There is the proper road where we should be," 
 Ellen explained, nodding towards the opposite slope. 
 "But you can t cross the canon: we should have had 
 to go six miles round at least from where we were. 
 There is an old road on this side that is good enough 
 for horseback, and it brings us out on the real road in 
 about four miles." 
 
 Amsden was looking intently at a cart and horse 
 moving swiftly along the opposite hillside. His first 
 thought had been how oddly minute it looked, like a 
 sidewalk toy, with no other gauge of distance to accent 
 the width of the valley. Then an unpleasant thought 
 struck him. 
 
 " Does that cart look familiar to you ?" he demanded. 
 Ellen needed only one glance. 
 
 "Pocock!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Can t we get there first?" Their eyes met over 
 the idea, dismay yielding to the light of adventure. 
 
 "We can try it," she said with a note of laughter in 
 her voice, plunging forward. A three minutes scramble 
 
 168 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 down the steep descent, their horses squatting and 
 sliding, brought them to a rough road, stony and un 
 even, ploughed with gulleys, but at least clear of trees 
 and fairly level. 
 
 " Shall we change horses?" He was ready to spring 
 off at her word, but she shook her head. 
 
 "I can get more out of Adam in a real emergency. 
 We mustn t start off too furiously." she added. "It 
 is five miles to the house." 
 
 The horses cantered easily side by side, avoiding or 
 scrambling over obstacles with a capable air of knowing 
 their business. The soft grey day had not sensibly 
 changed colour or tone since early morning: it seemed 
 as though they might continue to take from it as many 
 hours as they pleased without leaving it any more spent, 
 as one might take coins from a magic purse that was 
 always full. Through an occasional opening in the 
 trees they could see the little trotting horse on the op 
 posite slope a quarter of a mile ahead of them, moving 
 with mechanical evenness. Pocock had a better and 
 a much shorter road as well as a swift steed. Their 
 work was cut out for them, and they bent to it with 
 rising excitement. 
 
 So long as the enemy was not aware of them, they 
 gained on him rapidly. Soon they were abreast, and 
 as the canon walls came nearer together they darted 
 out ahead across a hundred yards of open ground. 
 It was then that they were discovered: the roads were 
 near enough now for them to see the quick turn of the 
 doctor s head in their direction, and the momentary 
 
 169 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 pause of his horse, as though sharply pulled up. Ellen 
 on her cavalry saddle was an unmistakable figure in 
 that region. The doctor went evenly ahead again 
 with no sign of having seen them, but a moment later, 
 when a group of pines gave him shelter, they heard his 
 horse break into a wild gallop. He emerged at a 
 calm trot ; but there were other sheltering groves ahead 
 for him and a steep gravelly hill for them. Ellen s 
 eyes were shining with laughter. For the first time 
 Amsden saw the strong, unbroken youth that underlay 
 the maturity life had thrust upon her. She was still 
 his Viking figurehead, but gloriously at play. 
 
 The hill put Pocock ahead of them, but they plunged 
 away from him on the down slope. The canon walls 
 were now so near together that, but for the trees, they 
 could not have kept up the farce of not seeing each other. 
 
 Whoever gets to the gate first, wins," said Ellen. 
 "We can t race openly, you know!" The gallop of 
 the other horse was close behind them. 
 
 "Then we get there first," returned Amsden, bend 
 ing down jockey fashion with a touch of the heel that 
 sent Eve scudding ahead. Adam dashed after her, 
 and the rocking canter changed suddenly to the smooth 
 ness of a run. The grey air streamed over them, cool 
 and milky soft, as they skimmed into the last thicket 
 between them and victory. Then defeat loomed 
 before them in the trunk of a fallen pine, lying stark 
 and straight across their path. Amsden shot a glance 
 into the tangled growth on either side, and his eyes 
 met Ellen s. 
 
 170 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Can they jump it?" 
 
 "They ve got to!" 
 
 They flew on with speed unchecked, whips ready. 
 He felt the falter of astonishment in the mare s gait, 
 but Adam was plunging sturdily ahead, and the whip 
 brought her up snorting beside him. There was a 
 quick lurch, the striking of a hoof, the jar of alighting: 
 three minutes later he had flung himself down and 
 opened the gate to victory. Pocock was not even 
 within earshot. 
 
 Ellen was flushed, radiant, splendid with life and 
 satisfaction, but Amsden s spirits were suddenly 
 drowned in a wave of cold fright, not for himself. 
 
 "Had you ever jumped either of them before?" he 
 demanded. 
 
 "Never," she laughed. 
 
 "How could I have let you do it!" 
 
 She still laughed. "Wasn t it glorious! You must 
 walk them up and down after I have gone in. Poor 
 Pocock isn t he in a rage, though!" 
 
 "Will he turnback?" 
 
 "Not he! But he can t get my old man while I am 
 on the field." She dropped the reins and stretched 
 her arms out wide, lifting her heated face to the cool 
 air. "Oh, isn t it good to ride, and to beat!" she 
 cried, curling her fingers tightly into her upturned 
 palms. Amsden shivered: "// she had fallen!" was 
 his dominant thought. 
 
 The road mounted past the rough shanties and 
 barracks of a logging camp to the more substantial 
 
 171 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 house of Peter Balch, set in a waste of stumps, but 
 showing glimpses of the ancestral taste in fantastic 
 rock- work, and an arbour guarded by two little painted 
 iron gnomes. A woman looked out eagerly from an 
 upper window as they halted, and they could hear her 
 running down the stairs. 
 
 "Poor Minnie, with her hopes all set on Pocock," 
 Ellen murmured as she dismounted. Then the smile 
 vanished before a look of alert concern as another 
 sound came to them from the open window above, a 
 sound of hoarse, difficult breathing. Race and rivalry 
 were forgotten: she caught her bag from the saddle, 
 and ran up the steps just as a young woman with a 
 frightened face threw open the door for her. Amsden 
 could hear her quick step on the bare stairs within, 
 the quiet strength of her voice speaking in the room 
 above: then there was silence, but for the distressed 
 breathing, an active silence in which he seemed to see 
 her taking all this fright and suffering up into her 
 steady hands and quieting it. He was humbly grate 
 ful that he could do something for her as he led the 
 steaming horses away. 
 
 He had had time to walk them until they were fairly 
 cool, and to rub them down with handfuls of grass 
 before Dr. Pocock came jogging peacefully up the 
 road, his horse as cool and composed as himself, but 
 for a telltale ridge of foam that had been overlooked 
 on the breeching. 
 
 " So my colleague is already here that s good, 
 that s good," was his genial greeting as he pulled up 
 
 172 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 beside Amsden and held out a patronizing hand over 
 the wheel. 
 
 "Yes, she is here," Amsden assented, taking the 
 hand as briefly as possible, but amusedly interested in 
 the doctor s tactics. 
 
 "She is fortunate to have a companion in her rides," 
 Pocock went on. " It s a lonely business, this travelling 
 about the mountains, Mr. Amsden: she does well to 
 take time for pleasure jaunts. I only wish I could. 
 But the suffering, the suffering !" And he shook 
 his head with eyes solemnly reminiscent of painful 
 scenes. Amsden resented the implication of his words, 
 and was still more irritated by the impossibility of any 
 direct reply. He could not quite let it pass. 
 
 "I never have known anyone whose devotion to 
 work was so whole-souled," he said, his tone success 
 fully casual. 
 
 "Ah, surely, yes! No young lady could be more in 
 earnest," was the equivocal answer, given warmly, 
 but with a slight smile that made Amsden s right hand 
 automatically clench. "Ah, here comes my special 
 patient," he added, as a melancholy young man, with 
 a three days growth of blond beard on his chin, ap 
 peared from the house. The doctor drove forward to 
 meet him, and Amsden, the two bridles over his arm, 
 seated himself on a stump and watched the interview 
 that followed with an echoing of Ellen s sharp disgust 
 for the "tricks of the trade." He had no need to hear 
 the words: the adroit game was clearly pantomimed. 
 A bottle was produced, with earnest directions: young 
 
 173 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Peter placed it reverently on the porch, then got into 
 the cart, and they drove off together, the doctor favour 
 ing Amsden with a florid wave of his hat. 
 
 "Fat hypocrite!" was Amsden s impatient thought 
 as he nodded coolly in response. 
 
 An hour had passed before Ellen came out, followed 
 by the young woman she had called Minnie. As 
 Amsden brought the horses up to the door, he noticed 
 with poignant relief that the harsh breathing upstairs 
 had ceased. It had been hard to get the sound out of 
 his ears. 
 
 "Now, Minnie, you understand everything?" she 
 was saying as she drew on her gloves. "I don t expect 
 any more trouble this time, but I will be up in a few 
 days. What is this?" she added, picking up Peter s 
 bottle, and examining the label. "Dr. Pocock s Pre 
 scription, cough, inflammation, nervous disorders 
 it seems to cover a good many diseases, Minnie." 
 
 "Oh, it s a wonderful remedy, Dr. Ellen," Minnie 
 assured her. "Peter has had two bottles, and, my, 
 he s another person. Lots of the folks are taking it, 
 and they keep it at the store now. You see, it isn t a 
 patent medicine, it s a regular prescription." 
 
 Ellen appeared thoughtfully interested. "I see!" 
 she commented. "Well, I must have a look at it. 
 Good-night: call me any moment if your father feels 
 he wants me." 
 
 "You just try a bottle of the Prescription," Minnie 
 called after her, evidently hopeful of making a convert. 
 
 "Oh, won t I try it!" said Ellen, with meaning as 
 174 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 they rode away. "This very night, if there is a bottle 
 left in Gallop." 
 
 "Not on yourself, I hope?" Amsden suggested. 
 
 "That won t be necessary: I have a better way in 
 my laboratory. I found my poor old man very ill," 
 she added. 
 
 "It was not indigestion, then?" 
 
 "No: a serious heart attack. It is over for this 
 time, but " She fell into musing silence. Amsden, 
 remembering her covert hostility on their last ride 
 together, accepted her mood contentedly, wondering 
 if he should ever know why he had been so suddenly 
 taken into friendship. Perhaps she felt his thought; 
 or perhaps the words that came like an answer had 
 been in her mind all day. 
 
 "Mr. Amsden, I owe you an apology." Her face 
 flushed a little, but her voice was direct and earnest. 
 "I think I was very unjust last night. I hope you 
 will forget what I said." 
 
 "What makes you think otherwise now?" he asked 
 after a pause. 
 
 "When I left you and went in, I threw myself down 
 on the couch by the window. I did not know Ruth 
 was on the porch until you spoke to her." 
 
 "And you heard?" 
 
 "I went away as quickly as I could when she but 
 I inevitably heard what she was saying. It put you in 
 a very different light. I can t forgive not playing fair 
 in anyone, man or woman!" 
 
 "But you believe now that I have played fair?" 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Yes. I ought to have known that you would, but 
 I was troubled, and rather ready to be unjust. I 
 think I wanted a grievance against you. But you met 
 her so so beautifully, I was ashamed." She held 
 out her hand. "Is it all right?" 
 
 "It is very much all right! I have so wanted to be 
 friends with you," he added impulsively. 
 
 "Yes, I think we could have been good friends," 
 she admitted. 
 
 "It isn t too late, is it?" 
 
 "I don t believe it will be practicable." The 
 thought of Ruth rose between them, and they turned 
 hurriedly from it. "Besides, you have been criticising 
 me," she added. "You do still." 
 
 "You are so strong, one has to! It is an instinctive 
 effort to keep you in your place." 
 
 "What is my place?" 
 
 "I suppose I was referring to the good old idea that 
 the man shall be the head of the woman." 
 
 "It is a very bad old idea!" 
 
 "So it is. And yet the primitive impulse towards 
 headship isn t all civilized out of us, I m afraid. We 
 shall have a big fight yet, you and I, and the better 
 man will win." They smiled at each other, and the 
 curves of her mouth were femininely sweet. He could 
 not keep away from the dangerous topic. "Do you 
 really mean that we can t be friends, that you won t 
 let me ride with you now and then?" The shadow 
 came back to her face and she hesitated. 
 
 "Mr. Amsden," she said finally, her eyes on the 
 176 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 road ahead, "I care more for Ruth s friendship and 
 affection than I do for anything on earth. Isn t that 
 answer enough?" 
 
 He knew that it was and accepted it without protest. 
 "Only you must not take what you heard last night 
 too seriously," he said presently, with an effort, "or 
 think that I do. A momentary mood, with her " 
 
 "Yes, I understand. And she forgets things. Oh, 
 it will be all right. She has to take what comes to 
 her, poor baby!" 
 
 "Do you want me to go away?" 
 
 "I don t believe it would make any difference. No, 
 stay as long as you had intended, and we will give her 
 all the good time we can." She threw back her head 
 with an impatient movement. "There, that is fin 
 ished. Now let s get home." 
 
 She put her horse to a canter, and they left the topic 
 behind them in the canon. At the edge of the town 
 they separated, Amsden to find a bottle of the Pre 
 scription and bring it up to her at supper time. Eve 
 objected violently to being torn from Adam and the 
 home road, and her petulant impishness was so devious 
 in its ways of expression that Amsden felt mildly 
 thankful when he and the Prescription arrived at the 
 Dorn cottage intact. 
 
 "I won t keep you half an hour, old girl," he assured 
 her with an apologetic hand on her soft muzzle as he 
 left her securely fastened. 
 
 Wallace, who was dressing with his door frankly 
 thrown back, greeted him with a loud: 
 
 177 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "You re a nice one! * as he came upstairs. 
 
 "What have I done?" he asked in all unconscious 
 ness. 
 
 "Well, you haven t made the world any better and 
 happier, clearing out for the whole day, let me tell 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense. Wasn t I sent?" 
 
 "When the little boy is sent to the grocery, he isn t 
 supposed to take in the circus on the way home. You 
 will have some making up to do, if I m any judge of the 
 signs. Girls are the deuce," Wallace added sympa 
 thetically. 
 
 Amsden turned to his own room with an expressive 
 shrug. He was hungry and tired, and the prospect of 
 having to deal with feminine complexities irritated 
 him. He would have stayed away but for the thought 
 that Ellen might be paying in some way for his defec 
 tion. 
 
 He found Ruth alone in the living-room, sitting 
 dejectedly on the rug before the fire. If she had met 
 him with coldness or reproach, she would have 
 found him coolly impenitent. But she only looked up 
 at him with a little wavering smile, just as he had so 
 often seen Nell and Poppy look when denied something 
 and trying to be good about it; and he melted at once. 
 
 "How did the Flannery dresses get on without me?" 
 he asked, bringing a pile of cushions for her, and a 
 chair for himself. 
 
 "We didn t do much more on them. Christine and 
 Will went for a walk." 
 
 178 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "And what did you do?" 
 
 "I don t know just sat" she said forlornly; then 
 she seemed ashamed of her answer, for she smiled up 
 at him, and added quickly, " Did you have a nice time ?" 
 
 "Very: though I, too, just sat a good deal of the 
 time, holding the horses. Did your sister tell you 
 about our adventures?" 
 
 Her lips stiffened at the mention of Ellen. "No: I 
 haven t seen her. I wish I ever had any adventures! 
 A girl s life is so hideously tame." She moved restlessly 
 among her cushions. "Don t you sometimes feel 
 that you ll die if you can t have a good time this 
 minute?" 
 
 "Suppose we have one to-night," Amsden suggested 
 with creditable enthusiasm. She caught fire at once, 
 sitting up eagerly. 
 
 " Oh, let s ! What shall it be ? " 
 
 "Why not a dance?" 
 
 "Beautiful! We will clear the room and Chris 
 tine and I will put on low neck! Christine! Hurry 
 down!" 
 
 Christine dashed down the stairs with feverish ex 
 citement. "What is it? What is happening?" 
 
 "We are going to have a dance to-night low necks 
 and everything!" Wallace, who had just arrived, 
 waved his hat, but Christine looked dubious. 
 
 "But I am the only one of you that plays dance 
 music," she objected. " Much fun it would be for me, 
 Ruth Chantry ! The light vanished from Ruth s face. 
 
 "Oh, dear, I didn t think of that," she sighed. 
 179 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Why can t I be the musician ?" Ellen was stand 
 ing in the doorway behind them. "I am a little rusty, 
 but " 
 
 "Bully for you," exclaimed Wallace, and even Chris 
 tine was moved to graciousness. Ruth looked away 
 with a frown, but she made no objection. 
 
 Food enforced Amsden s determination that Ruth 
 should have as good a time as possible. After supper, 
 when she and Christine ran upstairs to dress, he pushed 
 back the furniture and rugs, while Wallace strewed the 
 floor with candle shavings. Ying, grinning approval, 
 brought in a big bowl of lemonade. 
 
 "Ying knows the size of a thirst," Wallace com 
 mented. "Hello, here they come my eye!" 
 
 The girls paused above them, laughing, for their 
 approval. They had piled all the finery they possessed 
 on their thin white frocks lace, scarfs, jewels, and 
 chains, and then, not satisfied, had powdered their 
 hair and added courtplaster patches. They made a 
 radiant picture as they stood outlined against the rosy 
 panels of redwood, with their bare arms about each 
 other, frankly revelling in the sensation they caused. 
 Wallace put himself at the foot of the stairs with arms 
 outspread. 
 
 "You ducks!" he cried. "Come down and let 
 Uncle Willie show his appreciation in the only true 
 way." They came down slowly, then darted past him 
 like swallows, one under each arm. 
 
 "Ingrates," he commented. "Well, then, let s 
 dance. Where is the orchestra?" And he went in 
 
 180 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 search of Ellen, who had retreated to her laboratory 
 with the bottle of Pocock s Prescription. 
 
 "She will think we are perfect idiots to dress up like 
 this," Ruth said petulantly to Amsden. "I do wish 
 we had someone else to play for us." 
 
 Ellen did not seem to think them idiots. " Oh, how 
 pretty you look!" she exclaimed, so spontaneously 
 that Ruth was a little ashamed. 
 
 "But nothing could hire her to do it herself," she 
 persisted as they began to waltz. 
 
 "Well, she does not ask that you take to her pur 
 suits, does she?" he demanded with a touch of severity. 
 
 "She makes me live here," sighed Ruth. Then, 
 sensitive to his disapproval, she looked up anxiously. 
 "Don t think me horrid! I know I am, but please 
 don t you think so," she begged. "I do want a good 
 time to-night ah, please think I m nice!" 
 
 He laughed. " I think you are very nice. And you 
 dance like a little white puff of smoke. I don t believe 
 you move your feet at all you are simply floating 
 here." 
 
 "I was so afraid I had grown stiff and awkward," 
 she said happily. "Ellen plays well, doesn t she? 
 No one can be a wall-flower to-night: it s really a 
 perfect party!" 
 
 Ellen played tirelessly, glancing over her shoulder, 
 to smile at them now and then, but for the most part 
 with eyes fixed absently on the keys, her real attention 
 very far from them. Amsden, conscious of her aloof 
 ness, found his end of the gaiety hard to maintain, but 
 
 181 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 it served to free the others from constraint. The 
 dancing grew fast and furious : an absurd quadrille was 
 organized, then a Virginia reel. Ruth was fairly 
 iridescent with joy: Christine romped, but she seemed 
 to dart about with the compact grace of a humming 
 bird. Amsden, watching the brimming light in her 
 face, realized with fresh kneeness that Ruth must be 
 set free. He knew now what it would mean to Ellen 
 to let her go, he felt with new understanding the value 
 of Ellen s work: and yet he could not believe that 
 either her deep affection or the needs of her mission 
 gave her a right to cut this flaming little soul off from 
 everything it craved. Christine had said that Ellen 
 was not poor; but if want of money should prove an 
 obstacle, then in some way it must be supplied. Ruth 
 must have the rights of her youth. He glanced across 
 at Ellen s bent head and rhythmically moving hands 
 with quiet readiness for the struggle, rejoicing that the 
 new friendship between them would force her to meet 
 him frankly instead of with cold evasion. She had 
 admitted him too far now to shut the gate of conven 
 tion in his face. And she was a just woman: he had 
 no doubt of the issue, once he had made her listen. 
 
 Consciousness of the joy ahead for Ruth warmed 
 him to benignity. He whirled her up to the lemonade 
 bowl, and poured her out a glass "to all the good 
 times coming!" They stood looking on and laughing 
 while Wallace and Christine organized and led a 
 cotillion, dashing up to imaginary partners with imag 
 inary favours, taking them out on the floor and per- 
 
 182 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 forming intricate figures, then leading a grand march 
 with so convincing an air that the brilliant ranks behind 
 them seemed almost visible. Ellen, watching them 
 over her shoulder with amused eyes, suddenly broke 
 into the unmistakable opening chords of the wedding 
 march. 
 
 "That seems to be a nice tune, Willie," commented 
 Christine with massive innocence. Will s face was one 
 large fatuous smile. 
 
 "I kind of like it," he admitted; then both broke 
 down and giggled helplessly. With a final chord 
 Ellen rose. 
 
 "Christine, come and play a waltz," she exclaimed. 
 "I haven t danced in years Will, are you afraid to 
 try it with me?" 
 
 Some of the vivid youngness that Amsden had seen 
 on their ride up the canon lighted her face as she 
 waltzed with increasing ease. Intangibly disturbed 
 and depressed, he slipped out through the open win 
 dow, glad of a moment s quiet. 
 
 The sky was dark, with only a dim blur to show that 
 the moon was up. As he stood in the shadow of the 
 porch drawing deep breaths of the clean night, he 
 became presently aware of a step coming slowly up 
 the trail. A moment later he could make out the 
 stooping form of Ned Spaulding plodding wearily past, 
 his head sunk forward, his arms hanging despondently. 
 He was evidently unaware of the lighted windows and 
 the music until a laugh from Ruth seemed to check 
 him like a blow. As he threw back his head and stood 
 
 183 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 to stare in, Ellen waltzed past the window in Will s 
 arms, flushed and clear-eyed and wholly happy in the 
 moment. The light, falling on Spaulding s face, 
 showed a dark spasm of anger: his hand slowly lifted 
 and clenched to an accusing fist. Amsden stepped 
 quickly forward, but before he could speak the other 
 turned away and strode swiftly on up the trail. 
 
 The quiet darkness, after he had gone, seemed to 
 cover unnamed dangers. Amsden lingered wondering 
 uneasily what he ought to do, and how far Gilfillan 
 was capable of holding the man in check while he 
 worked through to a sane acceptance of his sorrow. 
 Presently, Ellen called to him from the window. 
 
 " There is to be another entertainment, a very brief 
 one, in my laboratory," she explained, lighting a 
 candle. "I want to show you all something. Will 
 you come?" 
 
 "We probably shan t understand it if it is scientific," 
 Ruth objected. 
 
 "Oh, yes, you will," said Ellen, good-humouredly. 
 "Put wraps on, both of you. It won t take five min 
 utes." 
 
 Amsden had never seen her laboratory, a rough little 
 room built off the kitchen, with shelves full of medical 
 appliances and books. The girls balanced together 
 on the only chair, and she faced them with the bottle 
 of Pocock s Prescription, now half empty, held up to 
 view. 
 
 "This," she began, "is a great cure-all put on the 
 market by my rival, Dr. Pocock. It sells at the store 
 
 184 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 for a dollar a bottle, and sells well. They are all 
 taking it men and women and children. To a 
 certain extent, with the help of the magazines, I have 
 broken them up here of the patent medicine habit: 
 they know all about the percentage of alcohol in their 
 old favourites, or it isn t my fault if they don t ! I have 
 worked harder over that than over any one thing since 
 I have been here. I thought I was succeeding. But 
 this, you see, is not a patent medicine: it is a universal 
 prescription from their well-known and respected Dr. 
 Pocock. It is not simply strong drink in disguise, it s 
 a genuine cure for most human ailments. Well, now, 
 we shall see." 
 
 She poured some of the Prescription into a bottle, 
 and set a Wellsbach burner in its neck, then placed it 
 on a bracket over a lamp. This she lighted, and 
 presently the liquid began to seethe and bubble. 
 
 "If you blow us up, Ellen !" Ruth remonstrated. 
 
 "I won t," she promised. As a vapour began to 
 ascend into the burner, she held a lighted match over 
 its top. The muffled explosion, as it lighted, startled 
 the girls into small shrieks. "It is perfectly safe," she 
 assured them. "Now you see how it is burning, a 
 large, clear, generous flame? That is fed entirely by 
 alcohol fumes from the famous cure-all. Whiskey, 
 beside it, is a tame and harmless beverage. This is 
 the medicine that is being spread through this com 
 munity, where drink is the worst evil we have to fight. 
 Isn t it outrageous?" 
 
 "What can you do?" Amsden asked. 
 
 185 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 " So far I have not fought Pocock," she said thought 
 fully. "I have felt so sure he would undo himself in 
 some way that it seemed wiser as well as more dig 
 nified just to wait. Now I have got to do something 
 active: I won t stand his dragging these poor people 
 down. It has come to an open fight between us." 
 She looked fully equal to it: she was "the Cause" 
 personified in the flickering light of the burner. The 
 beauty of her strength and her devotion brought a 
 quick, swelling warmth to Amsden s spirit, big out of 
 all proportion to the occasion. He had felt so at sight 
 of a torn, stained battle-flag. 
 
 " Ellen, if you get Pocock down on us, he will come 
 and burn the barn up or something," Ruth objected. 
 
 Nothing I should like better if I caught him at it! 
 But he won t: he will simply slander and insinuate, 
 and always keep himself just clear of anything action 
 able I know him!" 
 
 "I ll go punch his head if you like," Wallace offered 
 as the girls rose. 
 
 "Thank you, Will. I wish it were as simple as 
 that." 
 
 "Well, we enjoyed this very much," said Christine 
 civilly. 
 
 "And you were a brick to play for us all the evening," 
 Wallace added. As they went out, Amsden turned 
 back to her. 
 
 "Do let me help if you can," he urged, holding out 
 his hand. She took it gratefully. 
 
 "I will," she promised. 
 
 186 
 
XIV 
 
 ELLEN breakfasted early the next morning, saddled 
 her horse and went down to the village. Her inten 
 tion was to find Mr. Gilfillan and map out her course 
 of action under his advice; but Dr. Pocock s sign and 
 a glimpse of his bristling pompadour through the 
 window appealed irresistibly to her native directness 
 of action. Perhaps the knowledge that Gilfillan would 
 inevitably counsel patience and prudence had its in 
 fluence in deciding her to see her rival first. 
 
 The doctor was alone in his office, and sprang to his 
 feet with effusive cordiality at her appearance. The 
 close little room had a professional air, a result of 
 massive furniture, medical works, and an odour of 
 drugs, and the ragged magazines on its mission table 
 showed that many patients waited here. Ellen took 
 the proffered chair, and waited unsmilingly until his 
 light flow of conversation dwindled and paused. He 
 crossed his knees and managed to swing his seat so 
 that its back was to the light. 
 
 "And now what may I do for my distinguished 
 colleague ?" he asked with florid ease, leaning back to 
 clap his hands on the arm of his chair. 
 
 "Dr. Pocock, I have been working here for three or 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 four years, and I know this community fairly well," 
 she began slowly. "And so I know what you have 
 perhaps not realized as yet that drink is the worst 
 evil here, the hardest thing to fight, the strongest agent 
 in dragging the men down and bringing misery on the 
 women and children. I have worked against it day 
 and night, and others with me; and we have made 
 enough headway to know that the fight is worth going 
 on with, whatever it costs." 
 
 "Ah, so certainly," he agreed, looking puzzled. 
 "Yes, rum is the curse of the poor man: I heartily 
 agree with you." 
 
 "It is alcohol that is the curse," said Ellen, and she 
 caught a flicker of understanding in his eyes before he 
 could avert them. "For that reason I have steadily 
 opposed the patent medicines ; and more or less success 
 fully, for the women were against them when they 
 understood. And that is why I have come to you to 
 urge you very earnestly not to spread among them this 
 Prescription of yours." 
 
 He met it blandly. "And what connection, my dear 
 young lady, do you make between my Prescription 
 a result of nine years patient study and these so- 
 called patent medicines?" 
 
 "Alcohol," was the direct answer. " I am not speak 
 ing in ignorance, Dr. Pocock. I have tested it, and I 
 know as well as you do how much of its success it owes 
 to that. You don t deny the alcohol, of course?" 
 
 He smiled. "You cannot expect me to hand over 
 to my rival the formula of my remedy! Very adroit, 
 
 188 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 my dear Doctor; but working in so limited a field, we 
 surely are justified in keeping our discoveries to our 
 selves." 
 
 Ellen rose with a mounting sense that the room was 
 too small to hold them both much longer; but her voice 
 was quiet. 
 
 "So far I have not tried to counteract your influence 
 here," she said. "I have felt very sure that it would 
 be temporary and I preferred to wait. But I will not 
 sit by and see you wilfully hurting these ignorant 
 people and undoing my work." He kept his seat, 
 looking up at her with covert impertinence. 
 
 " t When doctors disagree " he quoted gently. " Of 
 course, I understand that your practice has suffered 
 by my coming; but we have to take these things as they 
 happen. Believe me, you would have to encounter 
 rivalry in any field. You must not get discouraged." 
 His intention of enraging her was too obvious to be 
 effective. Her eyes showed only grave contempt. 
 
 "I simply want you to understand," she said, "that 
 hereafter I shall fight your influence and your medicine 
 in every possible fair and open way. If I can get your 
 patients away from you, I shall do it. There is no 
 question of professional etiquette in dealing with a 
 man like you. Good morning." 
 
 "Good luck!" he returned with a laugh as the door 
 closed after her. 
 
 Ellen s plan of action had flashed into her head 
 ready made before she untied her horse. She had 
 always kept a bi-weekly office hour down in the village, 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 hiring the use of a room on a side street for the purpose 
 and not even troubling to hang out a sign. The need 
 for keeping it had grown painfully less of late: the last 
 two or three times no one at all had come. With the 
 alert cheerfulness that always showed in her carriage 
 when she had a vast amount of work before her, she 
 now turned to the main street and dismounted in front 
 of a saffron-yellow house that seemed to have got in 
 by mistake among the stores and saloons. Its bay- 
 window, jutting to the sidewalk, displayed on a shabby, 
 discouraged looking card the word, "Dressmaking. 5 
 The woman who answered her knock was also shabby 
 and discouraged looking. 
 
 "I declare, it s a comfort to open the door to 
 somebody, even if it ain t a customer," she said, 
 sighing. 
 
 "But it is, Miss Gowdy," said Ellen, entering. 
 "Only I don t want clothes this time: I want your 
 parlour and dining-room." 
 
 "Well, for the land s sake!" said Miss Gowdy, sitting 
 down to the topic. 
 
 An hour later the dressmaking sign had been trans 
 ferred to the pillar of the little porch, and plain scrim 
 curtains were being whirled through the machine to 
 take the place of the grimy and rotting lace draperies 
 that Ellen herself had thrown down. A boy, sum 
 moned haphazard through the window, had taken up 
 the carpets, reaping a small fortune in pins, and a 
 smell of soap and wet boards began to drive out the 
 ancient mustiness. By noon two clean, bare rooms 
 
 190 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 with shining windows were in Ellen s possession, and 
 the boy was tacking down Gallop s staple article, dark 
 blue denim, for a floor covering. She would have 
 preferred fresh paint, yet was not sorry that the boards 
 were too soft and warped, for waiting for it to dry 
 would have been a sore trial to her active spirit. Of 
 the Gowdy furniture she reserved only a table and a 
 chair or two, having no use for fringed patent rockers 
 and "what-nots " bearing hand-painted shells. A few 
 plain necessities were found in the village, then she 
 borrowed a horse and wagon and drove home, leaving 
 Adam temporarily stabled. 
 
 Ruth and her guests were already at the hearty 
 luncheon that was their compromise for the prevalent 
 noon dinner, and looked up in amazement as Ellen 
 came in, dusty, dishevelled and radiant. 
 
 "Well, whose back yard have you been washing 
 now?" Wallace demanded. Her joyous energy ran 
 over in laughter. 
 
 "Don t get up," she said. "I must go and make 
 myself tidy. Have something kept hot, Ruth I am 
 starved." 
 
 When she came back she explained about her new 
 office. "I do love a good, big, dirty piece of work," 
 she confessed, "and I ve had it!" 
 
 "You didn t do the scrubbing!" Ruth exclaimed. 
 
 "I did half of it, anyway. Miss Gowdy finished 
 after she had done the curtains. I am going to see 
 what furniture I can steal from the house: Pocock s 
 mission-table is worth a dozen diplomas to him." 
 
 191 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Why didn t you let us come and help?" Wallace 
 asked. 
 
 "You can all help me with the furniture. And I 
 want a picture or two; the walls happen to be very 
 fresh and decent." 
 
 "There s that beast of a Nydia on my closet shelf," 
 said Ruth. "And the grateful-patient rug is about 
 somewhere. I wonder why it is that grateful patients 
 always have horrible taste," she added. 
 
 "Because the really knowing people get so spoiled 
 that they aren t grateful," Wallace explained. "Look 
 at Amsden here you could bet your last cent on his 
 taste, but save his life and would he be grateful ? Not 
 at all. He d be civil about it, and privately he d think 
 it was no more than you ought to have done. While 
 you take an ordinary chap like me, who doesn t know 
 a Corot landscape from a blue plush thermometer, 
 and any little kindness turns him into a mush of grati 
 tude. And he s more apt to give you the thermometer 
 than the landscape, somehow." 
 
 "Well, I shall take care never to rouse your grati 
 tude, Willie," said Christine. 
 
 "I think that is perfect nonsense," broke in Ruth, 
 whose sense of humour could never quite weather any 
 attack on Amsden, no matter how much he enjoyed 
 it. "Mr. Amsden might not spill over about things, 
 but he would remember years after you had forgotten, 
 Will Wallace." 
 
 "Wow!" murmured Will. 
 
 "Well, who volunteers to help me?" interposed 
 192 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Ellen. "I must be in order by night, and I begin to 
 realize that I am tired." 
 
 "I think it would be fun," said Christine, who had 
 been markedly cordial to Ellen since the little episode 
 of the wedding march the night before. "It will give 
 us a chance to see this wonderful taste of Mr. Ams- 
 den s." 
 
 "And his gratitude," added Amsden with a smile at 
 his hostesses. 
 
 They found various pieces of furniture that could be 
 spared, and Ellen put in the wagon a few properties 
 from her laboratory, including the Wellsbach burner 
 and the lamp. 
 
 "I think they may be useful," she said significantly. 
 
 When she arrived driving the load, the others fol 
 lowing on foot, great was the excitement in the town 
 of Gallop. Not that it showed itself openly. The 
 friendly questions and offers of help that would have 
 met her a few weeks ago were wanting, and, with a 
 sudden drooping of her spirits, Ellen wondered how 
 Pocock had spent the morning. Actively and calumni- 
 ously, no doubt : she could not look for an easy victory. 
 
 Signs of his activity came to her unexpectedly soon. 
 While the others, with somewhat noisy enthusiasm, 
 were transforming the dining-room into an impressive 
 waiting-room for patients, she dropped down for a 
 moment s rest in the front room, leaning her head 
 against the wall. Miss Gowdy was talking to a neigh 
 bour outside, and the nasal voices came to her with 
 merciless clearness through the open window. 
 
 J 93 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 " Rent s rent, of course," the neighbour was saying, 
 "but I don t know as I should want her in my house. 
 Somehow, a woman that could go off jauntin with a 
 young city feller, and leave a little child to choke to 
 death and those pore people had waited thirteen 
 years for that child well, she ought to be made to 
 feel it, I say." 
 
 "Well, Miss Murray, I don t know much about the 
 doctorin part of it," said Miss Gowdy, reasonably. 
 "I ain t needed a doctor for the past twenty years, and 
 I don t lay out to need one for some time to come. 
 But ever since that Madam McGuire come here with 
 her modes and fashions and her coloured pictures, and 
 took most of my trade away from me and it s no 
 use pretendin she ain t, for you d know better I 
 tell you, I ve had a real feeling for Dr. Ellen. I know 
 just what she s goin through every time she sees that 
 other doctor s sign, and the folks crowdin after him; 
 and I declare, rent or no rent, I m right glad of a 
 chance to do her a good turn. She s a real nice woman, 
 anyhow." 
 
 "Oh, I guess she means well," Miss Murray ad 
 mitted. "She ain t so sympathetic as Dr. Pocock, 
 though. You tell him the least little thing, and, my, 
 he s so concerned and interested! He s real kind 
 about Dr. Ellen, too. He was speakin of that Spauld- 
 ing child this morning in the post-office and when 
 someone blazed out, he says, Oh, well, you can t 
 expect a young lady to be as steady and reliable as us 
 old fogies. It was pretty magnanimous, for young 
 
 194 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Peter Balch says she don t speak any too well of 
 him." 
 
 "And I ain t goin to speak any too well of Madam 
 McGuire," said Miss Gowdy, emphatically. "She 
 may have more style to her than I got, but I don t feel 
 any call to go around mentioning it. I m with Dr. 
 Ellen, whether or no. If you know anyone as wants 
 a skirt turned, Miss Murray, I ain t above doin it." 
 
 "All right, I ll remember;" and Miss Murray moved 
 on. 
 
 Ellen had listened wearily, with closed eyes. She 
 did not open them until she heard the voice of Mr. 
 Gilfillan at the door. 
 
 "I am in here," she called to him, and rose with 
 fresh courage. "So you have heard already," she said, 
 holding out her hand. "I meant to get your advice 
 first, but I was swept away by my own energy. It is 
 war now between Pocock and me I went to him 
 and declared it!" 
 
 "You ve got a right handsome office," he conceded. 
 "I don t know but what it s time to sort of assert your 
 self, M z Roderick. I reckon you re right. Did you 
 see anything of Ned Spaulding last night?" he added 
 after a moment s hesitation. 
 
 "Last night? Why, no." Her tone was a question, 
 but Mr. Gilfillan left it unanswered, seemingly lost in 
 thought. 
 
 "I m afraid I m kind of losing my influence with that 
 poor soul," he said finally. "He has turned against 
 me, somehow. I wouldn t say Dr. Pocock had done 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 it, but they re pretty thick. And last night when I 
 started to fall in with him, like I often do well, the 
 poor fellow turned on me. I had to let him go alone. 
 He s mighty unsettled, M z Roderick!" 
 
 "Oh, I am not afraid, personally," she said, answer 
 ing his unspoken thought. "He hurts me profession 
 ally, of course. Mr. Gilfillan," she added suddenly, 
 "why don t you begin practising your profession? 
 You are a doctor now by right why not put out your 
 sign? I don t undervalue the work you are doing; 
 you give yourself day and night. But why not take 
 your title and place as a doctor, too?" 
 
 "Oh, there s no hurry, no hurry! I reckon there s 
 doctors enough here for the present." He would have 
 turned away from the topic, but she brought him back. 
 
 "Look here," she commanded. "My sign will be 
 ready to-morrow morning: Dr. Ellen Roderick, 
 Office Hours, 10 to 12. You go over to Jensen this 
 moment and tell him to do another sign just like it, for 
 the other side of the window: Dr. Gilfillan, Office 
 Hours whenever you please. You are always my 
 partner in fact I never go through a hard case with 
 out you: why not formally as well? We shall be two 
 against one, then." Her eyes were shining. "Oh, I 
 think it will be splendid!" He was touched, sorely 
 tempted, yet he hesitated. 
 
 "I didn t allow I d practice much so long as you 
 were here and equal to everything," he confessed at 
 last. "Somehow, when it comes to cutting into your 
 practice, M z Roderick " 
 
 196 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 " But you will be helping it, bringing it back to me," 
 she interrupted. "They all love you; they will get in 
 the way of coming here, and so I shall profit. Why, 
 you will be doing me the biggest possible service. 
 Hurry, now, or Jensen will say he can t have the sign 
 done in time for to-morrow morning." 
 
 His face cleared and lighted under her enthusiasm. 
 When she had silenced his last scruple, he hurried off, 
 and she watched him from the window with eyes 
 warmed by new hope and a deep appreciation of his 
 devotion. She had not realized how great his desire 
 to take his place as a doctor had been until she en 
 countered his firm determination not to so long as the 
 field was hers. 
 
 "Dear soul dear, big, selfless soul!" she mur 
 mured. 
 
 The two signs were in the window at seven the next 
 morning. By eight nearly every able-bodied citizen 
 in Gallop had seen them, and the news was well on its 
 way to the outlying regions. When Ellen arrived, at 
 ten, half a dozen loyal supporters were waiting to con 
 gratulate and wish her success: one had even mustered 
 a lame side for the occasion. Ellen concluded the 
 exhibition of her rooms with an informal lecture, illus 
 trated, on the Prescription, and all unconsciously they 
 went out her emissaries as well as her supporters. 
 When she had disposed of the lame side, she found 
 Rory, wearing her bandages as conspicuously as pos 
 sible, in the waiting-room. 
 
 "I thought you d better attend to my arm down 
 197 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 here, Dr. Ellen," she announced humorously. "It 
 will need attention as many days a week as you think 
 best." 
 
 "Did you walk?" Ellen asked, glad to see a glimmer 
 of fun in the shrewd little face. Rory had seemed to 
 her more depressed than was justified since her acci 
 dent. 
 
 "Did I walk! And have nothing to tie outside while 
 I was in being treated? I m a better friend to you 
 than that. I borrowed the most conspicuous piece of 
 calico in the region." 
 
 "But you mustn t ride yet, child!" 
 
 "Oh, you couldn t call it riding: he s warranted 
 never to go out of a walk. There s no one else in 
 Gallop for whom I d mount such a beast," she added 
 disgustedly. "Take a look at him if you doubt his 
 powers of drawing attention." 
 
 Ellen glanced out at a stout old piebald, glaringly 
 red and white, and laughed her appreciation. 
 
 "You are a good friend, Rory," she said. "Now, 
 let me see your arm." 
 
 "Oh, it s all right. You just looked at it two days 
 ago." Rory moved restlessly about the room, talking 
 disjointedly, and Ellen gradually realized that she was 
 trying to say something: a glance at her face showed 
 it absent and troubled. 
 
 "Sit down here, Rory," she commanded, and when 
 the girl had reluctantly obeyed, she laid a hand on her 
 shoulder. "What is troubling you?" 
 
 "Pocock," said Rory, instantly, with face averted. 
 198 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "In what way?" 
 
 "I met him this morning when I went to borrow the 
 piebald. I ve no love for him, as you know, but I had 
 to wait while they caught the beast, and I couldn t 
 stop him from pulling up beside me." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well, after some palaver he got round to our 
 first night in camp up by Juniper Creek." She drew 
 a hurried breath, and would have started to her feet, 
 but Ellen pressed her back. 
 
 "Go on: tell me exactly what he said." 
 
 Rory bent her face down over her bandaged arm. 
 "He didn t say much: I guess he was trying to get 
 something out of me. He began about the strange 
 doings up to our camp that night ; you must have been 
 a good deal startled, he says. I don t know what 
 you re talking about, says I. You didn t notice any 
 thing unusual in the night? he says. I ve only just 
 been informed of it, he says, and I deplore exceedingly 
 that it should have happened fat old hypocrite ! 
 Dr. Ellen is of course young and thoughtless, he 
 says, but I m sure she never meant Well, there I 
 blazed out at him and I told him to shut his head, and 
 that nothing had happened, and then my horse came, 
 and I left. And Dr. Ellen, dear," she thrust a cold, 
 shaking hand into Ellen s, "I don t know what he was 
 talking about, and I don t never want to know, only 
 he s a dangerous man, and you must look out for him. 
 So I had to tell you." And, to Ellen s amazement, she 
 plunged her face into her well arm with a gasp. 
 
 199 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Ellen waited a few moments, knowing that Rory 
 would hate any sympathy that made it harder for her 
 to get back her self-control. 
 
 "I think you had better know just what happened, 
 Rory," she said presently. "Some roughs made a 
 dummy of a dead child in a coffin, and left it by the 
 fire that night, to remind me that I had lost Spaul- 
 ding s little girl. Mr. Amsden and I saw them, so we 
 carried it a long way off and buried it while you were 
 all asleep. It was a cruel, barbarous thing to do; but 
 I don t believe Pocock can make any special use of it." 
 
 Rory lifted a face transfigured and shining. "Was 
 that all?" she cried. "Oh, Dr. Ellen, dear, was that 
 all he was driving at?" 
 
 "Of course. Nothing else happened." 
 
 "Oh, my glory!" She had to dry her eyes again. 
 "I ask pardon for being such an old fool tisn t like 
 me. Do Ruth and Christine know this?" she added 
 suddenly. 
 
 "About the dummy? No, I hope not." 
 
 "Tell them, doctor!" Rory had become very 
 earnest. " Tell them right away you never can know 
 what things people will be hearing. Pocock didn t get 
 nothing out of me, but Christine has an evil tongue 
 when you give her a chance; " her face darkened vin 
 dictively. "Let em know what he ll be driving at if 
 he questions them for he s got the nerve to. Promise 
 me you ll tell them this very day." 
 
 "Rory, you are nervous: that arm is keeping you 
 too quiet." 
 
 200 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Just so; but I m the happiest soul in Gallop." She 
 certainly looked it. Colour was burning in her cheeks, 
 and though she was smiling ironically at herself, her 
 eyes had a warmth of feeling that Ellen had never 
 seen in them before. "Oh, I m a bad lot," she burst 
 out. "I ve been round in the mud all my days, and it 
 sticks. I d go to the stake for a friend I believed in, 
 no matter what he was accused of; but all the time, 
 down at the bottom of my good faith in him, I d be 
 saying, Well, probably he s just like all the rest, and 
 no doubt he done it. It s a dirty mind that s my 
 worst trouble. Get a medicine to cure that, now, and 
 you won t need the piebald out in front for long!" 
 
 "I am going to give you some medicine, and over 
 haul you generally this very minute," said Ellen, em 
 phatically. "You are getting as hysterical as any 
 other shut-up woman, Rory Dorn. I m disgusted 
 with you. Put this thermomenter under your tongue, 
 and don t say another word." Rory accepted it with 
 an unresentful chuckle. Her eyes were shining, but 
 it was evidently not with fever. She met Ellen s 
 questions with a dry humour impossible to resist, but 
 when she was finally dismissed she became grave again. 
 
 "You ll remember to tell Christine?" she urged, 
 looking back from the door. 
 
 "Yes, I ll remember," Ellen assented absently. 
 
 A few moments later the first deserter from the 
 enemy appeared in the form of a young woman newly 
 come to Gallop. She carried a heavy child in her 
 arms. Dr. Pocock might be a wonder, she said, but 
 
 201 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 she didn t think he knew much about babies: Mont- 
 rose had colic all the time. That she herself knew 
 pitifully little about babies was evident after Ellen 
 had mastered the appalling details of Montrose s diet. 
 She was not unintelligent, and Ellen, sitting beside her 
 on the sofa, gave her a simple talk on infant hygiene 
 that roused a real enthusiasm of interest. She wished 
 her married cousin could have heard it. 
 
 " Go and get her," suggested Ellen. 
 
 Less than half an hour later two baby carriages were 
 blocking the front steps, and Ellen was again holding 
 forth on the diet and care of children. 
 
 " And here is something you can do," she concluded. 
 "A baby has many enemies to fight teeth and cold 
 and disease and neglect; but its worst enemy is the 
 mother who feeds it with bananas and sausages at 
 eighteen months, and gives it sips of beer to see the 
 funny face it makes, and puts a cooky into its hand 
 whenever it is restless. Haven t most of the babies 
 you know got crumbs on their cheeks all day long? 
 Now, I have told you generally how a child s diet 
 should be regulated, and I want you to help me spread 
 this knowledge. Just explain it to your friends as you 
 would a new dress pattern, whenever the chance comes 
 up. Help me to make the mothers realize how im 
 portant this is and you may bring your families to 
 me whenever they need a doctor. I shall consider 
 myself in your debt." 
 
 They went away full of zeal, and evidently began 
 their mission work at once, for the next morning an 
 
 202 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 irate follower of Pocock was waiting to ask belligerently 
 if Ellen had said that no child could grow up who ate 
 cookies. She had brought up five boys on them, and 
 she guessed she knew. Ellen met her with mildness 
 and hygiene, and ten minutes later parted from her 
 with a friendly handshake. The outcome of this, and 
 of two other calls from young mothers that followed, 
 was a notice pinned up in the post-office to the effect 
 that there would be a lecture on the care of babies at 
 her office the next day at eleven o clock, to which every 
 one was welcome to come. She knew that it was soon 
 for so bold a move, but patient waiting was not natural 
 to her, and the past weeks had been an exasperating 
 experience. 
 
 She arranged the chairs the next day in amused 
 trepidation, not knowing whether anyone would 
 respond ; but it was a drawing subject, and ten women, 
 some of them sitting skeptically on the edges of their 
 seats, faced her when the hour came. After she had 
 given her talk on food and care, seeing that she still 
 held them, she slipped quietly into the subject of 
 children s diseases. They did not see where she was , 
 tending until she mentioned diphtheria: then there 
 was a subdued movement, a hostile lifting of heads 
 and exchange of meaning or startled glances. With 
 quiet earnestness she told them about the discovery of 
 the serum and the wonders that the new treatment had 
 accomplished; and she explained the sudden dangers 
 of the disease, against which human skill could not 
 guard. Though no specific case was mentioned, it 
 
 203 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 was her first word in her own defence, and they could 
 not but be moved at her sincerity, and the evident 
 feeling under her words. Two or three went away 
 afterwards with mouths set to express that that was all 
 very fine, but they weren t so sure: the majority, how 
 ever, lingered to ask questions and to shake hands with 
 her. She galloped home at lunch time in splendid 
 satisfaction, a Viking figurehead on the eve of victory. 
 She had wholly forgotten her promise to Rory that she 
 would "tell Christine." 
 
 204 
 
XV 
 
 THE tale of Ellen s lecture and her incidental self- 
 defence went through the town like wind out of a 
 cloud. That same afternoon a committee of three 
 citizens, sober, grizzled men, who had held back from 
 taking sides in the town s quarrel over its doctors, 
 called to ask her to repeat it in the town hall the fol 
 lowing evening. 
 
 "You can leave out the baby food part," they sug 
 gested, smiling under their beards. "We believe in 
 fair play, that s all. If you got something to say, let s 
 hear it." 
 
 Ellen consented, and the self-appointed committee 
 put up the notice in the post-office over their own 
 impressive signatures. Dr. Pocock was called that 
 afternoon to the sawmill where Spaulding had just 
 gone back to work, and the news went with him, told 
 temperately, considerately, as one of the further wrongs 
 a much-wronged man must expect so long as irrespon 
 sible people held responsible positions. No doubt, Dr. 
 Ellen would easily induce people to trust her again 
 with their lives and their children s. Spaulding had 
 better drop in at the lecture: he might be convinced 
 himself. Spaulding muttered that he would see the 
 
 205 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 woman thoroughly condemned before he would go and 
 listen to her lies, and the doctor held his hand in a 
 sympathetic grasp. 
 
 "You re a strong man, Ned, strong for the right," 
 he said. His expression was one of peace and pros 
 perity so long as he was in the public view, but it dulled 
 to sour anxiety when he had turned his horse into the 
 lonely road that climbed to the log cabin of the Flan- 
 nerys. An hour later, as he wound slowly down 
 again, he came upon a dismayed group. Christine 
 sat on the bank by the road holding her foot in both 
 hands, her face expressing extreme anguish, while 
 Ruth patted her shoulder, and Wallace, a picture of 
 wretchedness and guilt, made confused sounds of 
 contrition and apology. Amsden was looking on with 
 an obvious effort not to appear as skeptical as he 
 felt. 
 
 "Well, if you will go jumping up and down every 
 bank, Will, of course you are going to dislodge stones, 
 and they are bound to hurt somebody," Christine was 
 complaining. "I don t think you have broken any 
 bones, but when a great stone comes with all its weight 
 on your foot, it is apt to do some damage. Of course 
 you didn t meant to I never supposed you did. But 
 you ought to be more careful." 
 
 "Say, I m awfully sorry," Wallace pleaded. "I 
 was a brute beast. I ll go and get a horse to take you 
 home I ll carry you myself if you say so." 
 
 Dr. Pocock pulled up beside them. 
 
 "An accident?" he queried. "I am so very sorry. 
 206 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Do let me have the pleasure of driving Miss O Hara 
 home." 
 
 " Oh, there is no need of troubling you," said Ruth, 
 hastily. Little as she sympathized with Ellen s work, 
 she had enough family loyalty to shrink from obliga 
 tions to the rival. But Christine, to whom any male 
 being was a man, revived at the suggestion, and ac 
 cepted with a gratitude designed to make Wallace still 
 more unhappy. In spite of Ruth s worried reluctance, 
 she had herself helped into the cart by Amsden, wincing 
 and breathing heavily with pain. 
 
 "Tell the little thin Flannery how sorry I was not 
 to bring her the dress myself," she said as she was 
 driven away. 
 
 " Confound the little Flannerys and all their works," 
 muttered Will, with a kick at the bundle that held the 
 finished frocks. 
 
 Christine s foot grew better at once, though her 
 cheerful face became decorously expressive of con 
 trolled suffering when Dr. Pocock interrupted his 
 opening commentary on the weather to say: 
 
 "But I fear you are suffering intensely. Don t be 
 too stoical I sometimes think you women are really 
 too brave in suffering. The nervous system needs the 
 relief of letting go a little. If you would make one 
 tenth the fuss that the average man does under 
 pain your delicate organizations would feel less 
 strain." 
 
 " But one hates so to give in to it," said Christine, 
 earnestly. "I am just like a sick animal when I am 
 
 207 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 ill: I want to crawl into a hole and not let anyone see 
 me." 
 
 "I know, I know! I tell you, you are all stoics. 
 One can t help reverencing you for it." The cart 
 jolted over a stone, and he pulled up with a sharp 
 "Ah!" of dismay. "How brutally careless of me," 
 he exclaimed. "That must have given you a twinge 
 of anguish; but of course you won t admit it." 
 
 "It was nothing," said Christine, faintly, but he 
 insisted on stopping the horse and pouring her out 
 a spoonful of whiskey in the cup of his flask. 
 
 "Ah, now we begin to look more like a normal 
 being," he congratulated her, and she felt free to re 
 vive. 
 
 "I don t wonder all Gallop swears by you," she said 
 as they drew near the town, and his hat flew off in 
 answer to friendly greetings. 
 
 "They are dear souls, very appreciative of a faithful 
 effort to help them," he said, carefully driving round 
 a bump in the road. "You know, of course, that my 
 professional skill would be entirely at your service if 
 you had not a doctor in your family. Do beg her to 
 attend to your foot at once not to let it go neglected 
 on any account." 
 
 "I have never happened to consult a woman doctor," 
 said Christine, looking dubious at the prospect. " One 
 has more faith in a man, someway." 
 
 "That is very natural. But there are things for 
 which a woman is quite as competent yes, really. 
 Of course, too young a woman is not equal to a very 
 
 208 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 grave responsibility: she is emotional, she wants the 
 pleasures of youth." 
 
 "Yes, I think that is true;" and Christine s lips 
 compressed significantly. 
 
 "She wants her pleasure excursions. I fear your 
 last one up Juniper Creek must have been very seriously 
 marred," he went on, lowering his voice to confidential 
 sympathy. "I have heard what occurred there, that 
 night, and I felt for you very much. It must have 
 been a horrible shock." 
 
 Christine had turned wide, startled eyes on him. 
 "How did you know?" she demanded. 
 
 "Such things always get about, don t they?" 
 
 "I haven t told anyone, not a soul," she protested 
 excitedly. "I haven t known what I ought to do 
 I can t tell you how distressed and worried I have 
 been, Dr. Pocock." 
 
 "Of course, of course," he murmured, looking 
 puzzled. 
 
 "I had been persuading myself that it wasn t true, 
 that there was some explanation," she plunged on. 
 "But if you have heard it, too I suppose I ought not 
 to go on staying in her house. But it s too dreadful!" 
 Dr. Pocock was listening with the intense stillness of 
 a cat at a hole. 
 
 "No one could possibly implicate you," he ven 
 tured softly. 
 
 "I know; but one can t afford to be mixed up with 
 such things. Though it seems dreadful to desert 
 poor Ruth. She doesn t suspect a thing: she thinks 
 
 209 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Mr. Amsden is as perfect as Dr. Ellen." The mouse 
 had evidently come out: the quick gleam in Dr. Po- 
 cock s eyes was like a silent pounce. 
 
 "Perhaps we can do something to meet this rumour 
 and stop it," he suggested after a pause. "No doubt 
 what I have heard is exaggerated. How much did 
 you see?" 
 
 "Why, I only saw them come out of the woods: it 
 was just dawn. I had been awake hours and hours, 
 and well, I hadn t heard them go." 
 
 "It was dawn? You are sure of that?" 
 
 "Certain. I didn t go to sleep again." 
 
 "Naturally;" in his averted eyes shone a hard gleam 
 of triumph. "I can t tell you how I regret it, Miss 
 O Hara. You see, I owe a duty to the community; 
 and yet, a woman s good name!" 
 
 "Please don t quote me in any way," said Christine, 
 hastily. "I am sure I don t know anything." 
 
 "No, indeed. You must be kept well out of it," 
 was the reassuring answer. "But you will let me see 
 you again some day, won t you? I may come to you 
 for advice?" 
 
 "Well, I dare say I shall stay a few days longer," 
 Christine conceded. 
 
 "Oh, Doctor! Doctor! Just a minute!" Miss 
 Finch was calling from her cottage door. She ran 
 down to the gate as he drew up. "Couldn t you come 
 in and look at Benjy? I ve been trying to get you all 
 day. He s been poorly all the week, and now all at 
 
 210 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "I am sorry. As soon as I take this young lady 
 home, Miss Finch " 
 
 "Let me wait here while you go in," interrupted 
 Christine. "I will hold the horse." 
 
 "If you are sure it won t be too hard on you " 
 
 Christine was sure, and settled back comfortably 
 as he followed Miss Finch. She was having a very 
 nice time, and did not care to see it curtailed by pro 
 fessional hurry. It was annoying that Ellen should 
 suddenly appear on horseback: she would find a reason 
 for disapproving. Christine nodded in a manner in 
 dicating that she knew her own business, but Ellen 
 drew up with a frown for explanations. The tale of 
 acute suffering and Dr. Pocock s kind assistance did 
 not abate her displeased gravity. She insisted that 
 Christine should ride her horse home. 
 
 "I have urgent reasons for not wishing anyone in 
 my house to be under obligations to Dr. Pocock, as I 
 should think you would know," she said with a touch 
 of sternness. 
 
 "When one is suffering, one can t bother about pro 
 fessional rivalries," said Christine. "Besides, I can t 
 take your horse; I haven t my riding skirt on." 
 
 "We can change in my office;" Ellen forced her 
 voice to friendliness. "I can look at your foot there, 
 too. Here comes a wagon: they will give you a lift." 
 She fastened the doctor s horse, and Christine sulkily 
 dismounted, declining her assistance, but wincing 
 pitifully with pain. She would have given much to 
 decline Ellen s services altogether, but there seemed 
 
 211 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 to be no way out of them: Ellen had a terrible direct 
 ness of action that swept other people along, protest 
 as they might. 
 
 When the mild bruise on her instep had been attended 
 to, Christine found herself riding home alone without 
 even a chance to thank Dr. Pocock, whose cart was 
 still standing in front of the Finch cottage. Her 
 seeming ingratitude troubled her so much that pres 
 ently she stopped the horse and investigated Ellen s 
 buttoned pocket in the hope of finding materials for 
 a note. There was a note -book with a pencil attached, 
 and, tearing out a blank leaf, she wrote: 
 
 "So sorry to desert you in this fashion, but your 
 rival insists on packing me home on her horse. I am 
 very grateful just the same. I hope we can have 
 another visit before I go. "C. O H." 
 
 She folded this, scrawled his name on the outside and 
 galloped back, a wary eye out for Ellen and an excuse 
 ready. Luck seemed to be with her, and she pinned 
 the note to the cloth back of the cart seat, then hurried 
 off unseen. That Ellen might pass before the doctor 
 came out did not occur to her; but that was what 
 happened not five minutes later, and it was an Ellen 
 still simmering with indignation. The note addressed 
 in Christine s unmistakable sprawl might have been 
 flung in her face, for the instantaneous effect it pro 
 duced. Prudence, dignity, the rights of correspondence 
 were drowned in the sudden boiling over of her wrath. 
 
 212 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Taking the missive from the cart, she tore it into little 
 pieces. 
 
 "I ll tell her what I have done, and, please God, it 
 will make her so angry that she goes home," she mut 
 tered as she threw the bits into the air. It was not till 
 then that she saw Dr. Pocock coming down the path. 
 
 A chill reaction brought her very close to dismay as 
 it showed her how hopelessly she had put herself in the 
 wrong. She stood her ground, her hands thrust into 
 her belt and her head thrown back, waiting for him 
 to do his worst, but it was a moment before she could 
 lift her eyes to meet the insolent smile so hatefully 
 familiar to her. 
 
 Pocock, for once, was not smiling : his face was pale, 
 and he stared at her blankly without a sign of having 
 seen her. It seemed to Ellen that his eyes had a look 
 of fear, of cowardly, selfish fear, and she forgot her 
 own position in her wonder. He untied his, horse with 
 a nervous jerk, and drove hurriedly away without a 
 word. She glanced curiously towards the cottage, but 
 Miss Finch, appearing at that moment to shake a 
 rug out of the window, presented an unconcerned face 
 that denied anything unusual within. She must have 
 misread the signs; and yet the man s expression haunted 
 her as she walked on. Had he really not seen her? 
 Or was it a ruse to make some better use of what she 
 had done than a mere row with her? 
 
 "Well, I did it," she admitted with a sigh. "For 
 once he will be in the right. I can t even explain it 
 without calling my guest the fool she is! He will 
 
 213 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 probably hire a boy to stay with the cart now and tell 
 everyone regretfully why he is forced to do so." 
 Tired and irritated as she was, she laughed at the idea 
 of herself as a menace to private property. "Well, I 
 did do it," she repeated as she mounted the steps of 
 the cabin. "Now for Christine." 
 
 The chilliest possible "Come in," answered her 
 knock on Christine s door. A white silk kimono over 
 a lace petticoat, a bottle of aromatic salts, and a novel, 
 gave the proper air of distinguished invalidism, and 
 the burnished curls shone delightfully against the white 
 pillow. Though she was lying on her bed, Christine 
 managed to give the impression that she was looking 
 down on Ellen from a height that really called for the 
 help of a lorgnon. 
 
 "Christine, you don t understand the situation here 
 you can t be expected to," Ellen began with not 
 unfriendly seriousness. "Dr. Pocock is an unscrupu 
 lous man who has been working for weeks to hurt me, 
 professionally, personally, every way. It is too long a 
 tale to go into: you must just take my word for it that 
 there can be no intercourse between him and my 
 household. This is so important that I took the liberty 
 of destroying your note to him I happened to pass 
 his cart before he came out." 
 
 Christine raised herself on one elbow, her face 
 flushing. 
 
 "You took my note, a private note, written to some 
 one else?" 
 
 "Yes. It was contraband of war, and I seized it." 
 214 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 " May I ask if you have been opening or holding up 
 any other letters of mine ? It is rather important that 
 I should know." She was furious, yet her eyes could 
 not quite hold their own against Ellen s steady look. 
 
 "Oh, come, Christine, you know I haven t," she 
 said tolerantly. "I admit that, from a conventional 
 point of view, I behaved very badly: I apologize all 
 you like. But you had not behaved well as my guest 
 didn t Ruth object? I am sure she would. So 
 suppose we call it square." 
 
 "I am sorry if I can t see it as you do," was the 
 frigid answer. "A man very kindly helped me when I 
 was suffering, and I merely wrote to thank him as 
 you probably saw. The relation between that and 
 stealing other people s letters well, it is too much 
 for me!" And she returned pointedly to her novel. 
 
 "Very well: we will make it a quarrel if you prefer." 
 Ellen spoke with sudden sternness. "But please 
 remember this: no one who stays in my house can 
 have any intercourse with Dr. Pocock." And she 
 went out, leaving Christine to reflections that evi 
 dently had their importance, for when Ruth came in, 
 an hour later, all signs of anger had gone and she said 
 nothing about her grievance. Christine was not quite 
 ready to go home yet. 
 
 Ruth brought an offering of candy from Wallace. 
 
 "You must be nice to him to-night," she urged, 
 sitting down by the bed. "The poor boy was so blue 
 and cross all the afternoon. He really felt dreadfully, 
 Christine." 
 
 2I 5 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 " Oh, yes, I ll relent to-night," said Christine, com 
 placently. "He is a nice boy, isn t he?" 
 
 "A perfect dear. And he adores the ground you 
 walk on. Dear me, we oughtn t to eat this now and 
 spoil our supper," she added, making careful selection 
 from the paper bag. 
 
 "How did the Flannerys like their dresses?" 
 
 "I don t know. Mrs. Flannery didn t seem very 
 pleased, someway. The children looked bigger than 
 I remembered; I was so afraid they couldn t get into 
 them that I flew off before she could try them on. She 
 said we were rale kind, and all that, but I don t 
 believe it pays to make the world better and happier, 
 myself." 
 
 "Well, we had the fun of doing them; I don t care 
 whether they can wear them or not," said Christine, 
 comfortably. "Is Will coming to supper?" 
 
 " Oh, yes. And you must cheer him up. He really 
 is a love, Christine. I don t believe you would find 
 anyone nicer." 
 
 "He hasn t very much money, as yet," objected 
 Christine. "Still, I have heard that he is a good 
 business man. Those silly, boyish men often 
 are." 
 
 "And then you have your own," Ruth reminded her. 
 
 "Oh, of course: nothing would be possible without 
 that. He is going to be too fat, later." 
 
 "Well, so are you." 
 
 "Brute! I am not. There s a doctor in London 
 who can reduce you thirty pounds in five weeks. Betty 
 
 216 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Hall has got his directions, and she is going to lend 
 them to me." 
 
 "You know you would never follow them for more 
 than a week. I will love you just the same, Christine, 
 no matter how much you weigh." 
 
 "Thanks. Here, you are taking all the wintergreen. 
 The nicest thing about Will is that is he always so fresh 
 and clean. I really don t think I could care seriously 
 for a man who didn t shave every day." 
 
 "Mr. Amsden is always beautifully fresh, too," said 
 Ruth. Christine s eyes narrowed. 
 
 "I don t altogether make that man out," she 
 ventured. "There are things I don t know that I 
 would trust him too far, Ruth." 
 
 "I would trust him farther than anyone I ever 
 knew," said Ruth with a flash of anger. "I don t 
 know what you are thinking of, Christine!" 
 
 "Oh, of course he is all right," she amended hastily. 
 "He just isn t my kind, that is all. Will adores him 
 thinks him the straightest chap he knows, and 
 all that." 
 
 "I should think he might," said Ruth, subsiding. 
 "Now we must dress or we shall be late for supper." 
 
 "I wish I could go down like this," said Christine, 
 limping to the mirror to look regretfully at the loose 
 becomingness of her luxurious negligee. 
 
 "Well, you can t," said Ruth, who was not wholly 
 appeased. 
 
 217 
 
XVI 
 
 ELLEN was evidently relieved that the girls showed 
 no disposition to attend her lecture the next night. 
 Amsden had quietly made up his mind to go, but did 
 not say so until the cart was at the door. Ellen ob 
 jected at first, and only consented when he promised 
 to take as remote a position as possible in the back of 
 the hall. Ruth looked grieved as they drove off, and 
 Christine s eyebrows were at a significant angle. 
 
 These days of Ellen s activity had been inexplicably 
 oppressive to Amsden. He had resolved every night 
 that he would leave by the morning stage, yet every 
 morning found him mounting to the cabin and dog 
 gedly playing his part in the everlasting "good times" 
 that the girls never wearied of planning. Ellen s radiant 
 energy, her complete independence of them, kept him 
 in a state of smouldering irritation. He was savagely 
 pleased to-night that she seemed to have collapsed from 
 the goddess of victory who galloped home every noon 
 to a silent and rather depressed human woman. 
 
 "Are you afraid?" he asked as he helped her down 
 at the hall. 
 
 " Oh, no. I was thinking of other things," she said, 
 with a smile for Mr. Gilfillan, who was watching for her. 
 
 218 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 The crowded hall was in giggling darkness as they 
 entered, the electric lights having abruptly winked out, 
 as they usually did on public occasions. Several 
 youths had sprung to the rescue with matches and 
 were mounting chairs to light the lamps set on brackets 
 about the walls, and prudentially kept ready for ser 
 vice. The humorists and Gallop had many 
 were making the most of the occasion: several empty 
 kisses rent the air, and the sound of a tingling slap 
 coming from a shadowed corner roused a roar of 
 laughter. The growing light showed the elders grin 
 ning appreciatively, some of them with a sheepish 
 embarrassment not noticeable in the younger genera 
 tion. They were all in genial mood when Ellen ap 
 peared, and as she stepped up on the platform there 
 was a murmur of applause, conspicuously led by 
 Dr. Pocock. He had settled himself in the middle 
 of the front row, and his expression was calmly 
 tolerant. 
 
 She faced them with a grave serenity that brought 
 instant quiet. The lamplight, falling on her straight, 
 heavy hair, gave it the shine of stubble where it parted 
 over her low, sunburned forehead, and touched with 
 unreality the sheer whiteness of her gown, outlining 
 her wonderful shoulders and arms. It seemed to 
 Amsden at that moment that she was the strongest 
 creature he had ever seen, and also, in a very big 
 sense, the most beautiful. His heart beat heavily as 
 he waited for her to begin. 
 
 Ellen was not frightened. After a glance at Dr. 
 219 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Pocock, she looked calmly past him, and his varying 
 expressions of amusement or remonstrance, the slow, 
 dubious shakes of his head, did not reach her, however 
 they affected the crowd about him. She spoke quietly 
 and distinctly, the contralto note in her voice deepening 
 with her earnestness, her meaning as clear as a child s 
 primer. When she had finished the indirect self- 
 defence that underlay her explanations of antitoxins, 
 there was a burst of hearty applause; only Dr. Pocock 
 sat with folded arms, frowning more in sorrow than 
 in anger. 
 
 He was not prepared for the next step; for Ellen, 
 without a glance in his direction, went on to the sub 
 ject of patent medicines. Her war upon them had 
 been so persistent that the crowd laughed a little when 
 Mr. Gilfillan brought her two well-known bottles, but 
 the laugh hushed uncomfortably as the familiar Pre 
 scription was set on the table with the others. Shy 
 glances at Dr. Pocock showed him smiling with a 
 somewhat rigid blandness. Ellen had never applied 
 the test for alcohol in public before, and the crowd 
 watched intently as Mr. Gilfillan arranged the ap 
 paratus. The formality of the lecture was at an end : 
 she talked to them as she would have in their own 
 homes. The mellow lamplight and shadow on the 
 rough, upturned faces gave them a beauty that the 
 electric glare would have wiped out, and Amsden 
 carried the picture for long afterwards, though at the 
 time an indefinable nervousness for Ellen clouded his 
 appreciation. One by one the medicines sent up their 
 
 220 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 alcoholic blaze, and the Prescription blazed the highest 
 of all. 
 
 "If you really must have alcohol, you know, whiskey 
 is a good deal cheaper," said Ellen, casually, and the 
 lecture ended in a laugh. 
 
 Dr. Pocock rose, and his eyes, hard and angry, 
 looked straight into Ellen s. 
 
 "I ask the privilege of speaking a few words," he 
 said, with ironical courtesy. 
 
 Ellen consented with a slight bow, and seated her 
 self in the platform chair as he mounted. Some in 
 stinct told her that she must stay face to face with the 
 house while he spoke. For all his controlled voice, 
 she divined in him a rage that would stop at nothing. 
 Silence spread quickly through the hall, but he waited 
 a minute before he began. 
 
 "My good friends, I am not here to defend my 
 professional reputation," he said, with a widening of 
 the lips meant for a smile. "My methods speak for 
 themselves. Do I cure you ? Do you feel better after 
 I have prescribed for you? If you do, that is all the 
 testimonial I want slander can t hurt me, nor mock 
 trials with doctored drugs." His smothered fury 
 flamed up for an instant, but he drove it back and his 
 voice became ominously smooth. "We doctors stand 
 or fall by what we do have any of your little ones 
 died under my care ? and by what we are has my 
 character as a man given you any right to distrust me ?" 
 
 The significance he threw into the last words made 
 Amsden s hands involuntarily clench. He tried to 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 move nearer the front, but he was hopelessly wedged 
 in by the crowd, and was roughly bidden to be still. 
 
 "I am not here to offer excuses or explanations," 
 Pocock repeated. "If my skill fails you, do not em 
 ploy me; if my moral conduct is open to question " 
 his narrowed eyes searched their faces, then his fist 
 came down sharply on the table at his side "do not 
 admit me freely to your homes!" 
 
 Accusation flashed unmistakably through the thun 
 der of his reckless anger. The crowd stared in be 
 wildered silence from him to Ellen. He would have 
 stepped down from the platform, but she rose and 
 checked him. 
 
 " Dr. Pocock, you have gone too far not to go a little 
 farther," she said with perfect serenity. "If you are 
 referring to my conduct, where has it fallen below 
 your standard?" 
 
 This was evidently unexpected: his bearing lost a 
 shade of its pompous dignity. 
 
 "I make no charges," he said curtly. "I advise you 
 not to press such questions." 
 
 "But I insist on pressing that question," was the 
 clear answer. "You may put aside all scruples, all 
 your natural chivalry;" she smiled faintly, and to 
 Amsden, sick with rage, came the astounding con 
 sciousness that she was enjoying herself; "charge me 
 with any crime in the catalogue of which you honestly 
 believe me guilty." 
 
 There was an echo of approval from the house. 
 "Fair play!" they called. "Say it out that s right!" 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 He saw how he was losing ground with them, and the 
 last shreds of his prudence parted before a gust of rage. 
 
 "As you will!" he burst out. "Ask her what hap 
 pened one night not long ago in a camp on Juniper 
 Creek!" 
 
 The elation of battle was momentarily dimmed in 
 Ellen s eyes. "Don t you all know what happened?" 
 she asked, turning to the tense crowd, and she read in 
 their faces that they did. "Some of you saw fit to 
 leave the effigy of a dead child by our camp-fire. We 
 carried it away at once and buried it in the 
 woods." 
 
 "You and one of your guests?" suggested the 
 doctor, suddenly suave. 
 
 "Yes," she assented. 
 
 "You carried it away at once," he repeated. "And 
 I am told that it was left there at about two in the 
 morning. Well, then "it was the pause of the en 
 raged animal before he plunges straight at his victim, 
 head down "how did it happen that you and this 
 man did not get back to the camp until dawn?" 
 
 The shock of the charge paled many of the uplifted 
 faces. They looked to see her grow white or crimson, 
 to storm or break down : no one was prepared for what 
 did happen for Ellen laughed. It was not a laugh 
 of scorn or of defiance; merely a little impulsive note 
 of amused relief. 
 
 " Oh, Dr. Pocock, these people know me better than 
 you do," she said. "On that head, I don t need to 
 explain myself to them!" 
 
 223 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 She might have spoken just so to an outrageous child : 
 and her smile of perfect confidence fell on their strained 
 nerves like a sign from the heaven of all righteousness. 
 There was a storm of applause. A moment later, the 
 entire hall was trying to shake Ellen s hand. 
 
 As soon as he could extricate himself from the jam, 
 Amsden started with quiet singleness of purpose after 
 Pocock; but the doctor had disappeared. After a 
 brief search he made his way to Ellen. 
 
 "Shall you object if I get someone else to go home 
 with you?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," she said with a keen glance. "I prefer you. 
 I am all ready now." And she smiled at his disap 
 pointed face. "I want you to promise me not to go 
 back to the village to-night," she said later, as they 
 were driving home. 
 
 "Must I?" 
 
 "Yes, please." 
 
 He promised with an expressive cut of the whip. 
 Rage was still boiling within, and he rejoiced grimly 
 that she extracted no promise for the morrow. Neither 
 spoke again on the drive. 
 
 Everyone had gone to bed at the cabin. He put up 
 the horse while Ellen brought out mild refreshments, 
 then dropped into a deep chair to wait for him. Her 
 eyes studied his set, angry face, when he came in, with 
 a glimmer of amusement. 
 
 "You must not take it so hard," she protested. He 
 softened a little as he stood in front of her. 
 
 "You wonderful woman!" he said impulsively. 
 224 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "You were great magnificent! But how can I help 
 raging when mud is thrown at you?" 
 
 " But you would not be offended if you were accused 
 of well, say of murdering your grandmother," she 
 argued reasonably. "It meant no more to me than 
 that; it was too remote. Pocock has hurt himself 
 badly. He won t need any further punishment," she 
 added, and there was mischievous understanding in 
 her smile. 
 
 He threw himself into a chair. " Oh, let me go and 
 lick him!" he pleaded boyishly. 
 
 "Not on any account. Remember, I won t have it. 
 Now, come and eat, for it is late. One thing puzzles 
 me," she added suddenly, looking startled. "How did 
 he know that it was dawn when we came back?" 
 
 He had not thought of that. "Do you suppose 
 they followed us and watched?" he wondered. 
 
 "No. Someone must have perhaps Rory saw us 
 and unconsciously let it out. Of course she saw us! 
 That is why " She fell into a thoughtful silence 
 that presently led her away from Rory, for she looked 
 up to say, rather despondently, "Do you know, some 
 of Pocock s success has been my fault, a failure in me." 
 Amsden looked skeptical, but poured himself out a 
 glass of milk and waited for her to go on. "I never 
 realized it until I overheard Miss Murray talking to 
 Miss Gowdy one day. She said that Dr. Pocock was 
 more sympathetic than I was: that the least little thing 
 roused his interest and concern. Of course, Pocock 
 is a sham; but it is true that I haven t been sympa- 
 
 225 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 thetic enough about small matters. When I think 
 them peevish and cowardly I am afraid I show 
 it." 
 
 "But why shouldn t you? Surely your influence 
 ought to be tonic, bracing." 
 
 "But not antagonizing! If you could see Mr. Gil- 
 fillan with a sick person, you would understand. He 
 is so warm, so intensely with them, that nothing is too 
 small or mean to rouse his concern. In his inmost 
 heart it never occurs to him that anyone is peevish or 
 cowardly; he sees the great courage and the great suffer 
 ing of mountain life, and for him it reflects back a 
 glory on each least little member. I have done some 
 thing here oh, yes, I have done a great deal: if you 
 knew the needless suffering in these far-off places for 
 lack of proper treatment! But the big work will be 
 his. My best contribution will be that I helped him 
 find his way to it." 
 
 Amsden slowly set down his glass of milk, and pushed 
 his plate away. He had felt pain in his life, mental 
 and physical, but never anything like this sudden 
 grinding, crushing misery. It had no name; but in 
 its glare he seemed at last to see truly, to see himself, 
 selfish, limited, a thing of unillumined clay, unfit for 
 even the friendship of such men and women as Gil- 
 fillan and Ellen. His forehead dropped on his hands, 
 and he stared down a vista of empty, arid years to 
 come, years in which those two grew and blossomed, 
 while he stood a dry stalk rattling in the wind. Then 
 it passed, as a wave of sickness might, and hope came 
 
 226 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 in its place. He lifted his head, and put out one hand 
 to her across the table. 
 
 " Ellen, I want to belong. I want to pull myself up 
 till I am fit to be your friend and Gilfillan s. Don t 
 give me up wait and see. You have been to me, 
 you two, like sudden green things in a desert. I had 
 almost accepted the desert as all that could be hoped 
 for. Now I know better and I shall find the water. 
 Dear woman, I am going to be grateful to you all my 
 life." 
 
 Her hands were clasped on her knees, and her averted 
 face was troubled. "Oh, no not to me! I always 
 fail," she murmured. "Be grateful to him if you 
 like." 
 
 "To you both. Good-night." He lifted her hands 
 and held them for a moment between his palms, then 
 turned to go; but halted abruptly with a warning 
 finger held up, and a nod towards the window. The 
 tall form of Ned Spaulding stood beneath them in 
 bold outline, his gloomy face lifted to the stream of 
 light, his attitude suggesting insolent waiting. Ellen 
 threw back her head. 
 
 "Oh, this is too much!" she exclaimed angrily. "I 
 shall go and have it out with him, once for all!" Ams- 
 den laid a detaining hand on her arm. 
 
 "No; let me go. It is not wise for you. I can 
 send him away." Some of her anger turned on him. 
 
 "I prefer to go myself. You will please not in 
 terfere." 
 
 Ancient New England was clear in his quiet face. 
 227 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "I must interfere. You will be insulted perhaps 
 hurt. I cannot allow it." 
 
 "I don t see what right " 
 
 Amsden s muscles suddenly tightened. "Never 
 mind my right. I ask you to go upstairs and leave 
 this to me." 
 
 "And I decline. Please take your hand away." 
 Their eyes met in a long encounter. 
 
 "I cannot bear to have you run a foolish risk," he 
 urged. "I want you to go away and let me deal with 
 him." 
 
 "And I refuse. We will not discuss it any longer." 
 
 A quick rage swept through Amsden like a flame, 
 leaving him white. He drew his hand away and faced 
 her over folded arms. 
 
 "Ellen, you will do as I say!" 
 
 The anger in her eyes died to amazement before the 
 sternness in his. Her breath came quickly between 
 her parted lips, but she said nothing. Her hands rose 
 in exasperated protest, then fell helplessly. The 
 pathos of her bewilderment smote him sharply, after 
 wards. Now he realized only that she was turning 
 away and going slowly up the stairs. He waited a 
 moment for the tumult within to subside. His pulses 
 were still throbbing as though he had just run a vic 
 torious race when he went out to face Spaulding. 
 
 "Well? "he began shortly. 
 
 Spaulding stared at him with sullen insolence, then 
 turned and resumed his waiting attitude. He was the 
 taller by half a head, but Amsden was strung with a 
 
 228 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 sense of power beside which physique seemed a child s 
 weapon. 
 
 " You cannot see Dr. Roderick to-night," he went on. 
 "If you have a message for her, give it to me. Other 
 wise, clear out." 
 
 Spaulding s eyes came slowly back to him. 
 
 "Message for her! Oh, yes, I got a message for 
 her!" He laughed to himself. "I guess she ll hev 
 to come and get it herself you ain t big enough to 
 carry it." 
 
 "Don t be a fool, Spaulding. You will only get 
 yourself into trouble." Amsden spoke temperately 
 over a mounting desire to fling policy aside and meet 
 the man with uncivilized methods. "You can t see 
 her, and you might as well go peaceably." 
 
 "H m! Afraid, is she? Guess she better be. 
 Guess she " 
 
 Amsden took a quick step forward. 
 
 "You crazy bully!" he said between his teeth. 
 "I ll give you just one minute to get up that trail." 
 Spaulding had fallen back a pace. 
 
 "And what if I won t?" he demanded. 
 
 "By God, you will!" 
 
 The primitive impulse surged, broke through the 
 decorous years of restraint; before he knew he had 
 struck, Amsden felt with savage satisfaction the shock 
 of hard flesh against his clenched knuckles. An 
 instant later the two men went down together in the 
 dust of the road. 
 
 Shame followed swiftly on the first half dozen blows. 
 229 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Amsden pulled himself away and got up, Spaulding 
 making no effort to keep him. 
 
 "That s enough for to-night," he said quietly, though 
 his muscles still swelled in challenge under his coat. 
 Spaulding picked himself up and turned to the trail 
 without a word or a glance; whether he went in weak 
 ness or in strength, to give up or to come back for 
 vengeance, his unhurried step gave no sign. 
 
 Amsden shook the dust from his coat, and seated 
 himself on the steps. The air was keen, but he was 
 unconscious of it. Over his whirling thoughts one 
 stood out clear and triumphant; it was good to be a 
 man ! The cords of his arms tightened, and he laughed 
 silently, excitedly, with the magnitude of this con 
 sciousness. His alert eyes were blind to the silvered 
 splendour of the mountains or the inky silhouettes of 
 the pines; he saw only shadows that might give forth 
 dangers for him to conquer. This household was his 
 to defend, and its enemies were his enemies, and the 
 battle was to the strong! 
 
 Late that night, when the cabin lights were out and 
 Wallace in the next room was sound asleep, Amsden 
 took his grey blankets, and, stealing out of the house, 
 climbed the trail to a ledge just below the cabin. All 
 that marvellous night, while the blazing stars gave 
 place to the late moon and coyotes yelped from dis 
 tant hillsides and the cold poured over him in a tide of 
 primeval purity, he felt no need of sleep. He did not 
 analyze, he would have laughed at anyone who told 
 him that he was in love; this arrow flight of the tri- 
 
 230 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 umphant spirit through bright space was the normal 
 state of the young and living man. 
 
 The first whiteness of dawn found the peace undis 
 turbed. He rose and turned to the trail, stopping to 
 shrink into the shadow of a boulder as his foot dislodged 
 a stone, setting it bounding noisily down the slope. 
 The blind windows above gave no sign, so presently 
 he took his way down, and, letting himself into the cot 
 tage, was soon asleep. 
 
 He awoke early, as refreshed as though he had done 
 away with his usual bodily needs. Breakfast seemed 
 as superfluous as sleep; he looked with wonder at 
 Wallace s placid enjoyment of it, and presently left 
 him to go for the mail, eager for movement and morn 
 ing air. It was a sunny, kindly day, full of children 
 who smiled at him, and nice dogs with a friendly wag 
 of the tail for an acquaintance, and spirited horses 
 with gallant riders. The air was alive with promise 
 of good things to happen, and they all came true when 
 he met Ellen at the door of the post- office. 
 
 "Oh, it is a good world!" he said, holding out his 
 hand. She smiled with a trace of shyness deliciously 
 unexpected. They walked on aimlessly, not noticing 
 whither. Her hand was full of letters, but when he 
 wanted to take them for her, she absently shook her 
 head, as though she had no attention to spare for 
 material trivialities. Her face was lifted to the glisten 
 ing splendour of the morning as they crossed the 
 bridge over foaming, cold breathing Juniper, and 
 climbed in silence up the broken end of its cation wall 
 
 231 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 till they stood on the summit of a narrow ridge, green 
 darkness and sheer granite cliffs on one side, and on 
 the other a savage waste of chaperral and harsh rock, 
 broken only by the cut of a road along the hot flank 
 far beneath. 
 
 "That is the road we took to the camp," said Ellen, 
 still with absent eyes. 
 
 "And where I rode back all alone," said Amsden. 
 Her mood thrilled him unaccountably, and yet his 
 doubting mind forced him to break through it to 
 make sure that her silence was not merely forgetfulness 
 of him. She came out of her dream with a little laugh. 
 
 "Ah, yes, I was hateful," she admitted. 
 
 "How could you help it, dear woman, believing what 
 you did!" The note in his voice startled him as well 
 as her: they both flushed, and she turned from the 
 wide view to follow the rough top of the ridge. When 
 she faced him again her every- day practicality had 
 taken possession, and checked his mood like a hand 
 laid on a ringing bell. The resonant joy of the morning 
 was quenched. 
 
 "I must not forget that I have an office hour at ten," 
 she said with desolating cheerfulness. 
 
 "But it is not nine yet," he urged. "Sit here under 
 this old pine." 
 
 "Well, for a few moments. I don t want to be late; 
 there may be results from my lecture." 
 
 "A stream of patients?" he asked listlessly, more 
 interested in watching the smooth shine of her hair in 
 the sun as he lay on the ground beside her. 
 
 232 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "That, or a visit from Pocock. I don t suppose he 
 will retire without expressing himself. Oh, he will 
 fight; but just the same, I prophesy that in two months 
 he will have vanished." 
 
 " Oh, are you never coming back? Is this life really 
 everything to you?" broke from him. Her face 
 clouded. 
 
 "I may come back some day I don t know," she 
 said, turning away. "I don t want to talk about it." 
 
 "You don t want to talk about anything but your 
 infernal doctoring," he declared irritably. 
 
 "I will talk on any impersonal subject you like," 
 she said with a grave frankness that made him ashamed 
 of his petulance. He dropped his forehead on his 
 arm. 
 
 "It must be impersonal?" 
 
 "It must not be about you and me. Oh, tell me 
 what you said to Spaulding last night," she added. 
 "Was he hard to deal with?" 
 
 "I didn t say much;" Amsden smiled to himself. 
 "My argument seemed to work, however. All my 
 arguments seemed to be effective last night," he ven 
 tured with a quick, amused glance up at her. She 
 smiled in spite of herself. 
 
 "Well, you warned me that we should have a fight 
 some day, and that the better man would win," she 
 reminded him, rising. Her attitude said that since he 
 would not be good, they must go. 
 
 "But that was not our fight," he protested. "That 
 was merely a trial of tempers, in which mine was proved 
 
 2 33 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 the worse. No: our fight is still to come, and it is for 
 a principle. It has nothing to do with me," he added. 
 
 She seemed to flush easily to-day. "Then what is 
 it about?" 
 
 "I can t tell you unless you sit down." She hesi 
 tated, then took a provisional seat on a jutting rock. 
 "You will probably hate me for it, and, conventionally, 
 it is none of my business," he went on with a serious 
 ness that reassured her. "But you are too big to take 
 things conventionally: if I am in the wrong you will 
 prove it to me. It is about Ruth." 
 
 A frightened look came into her eyes. "Ruth?" 
 
 "Yes. About making her live up here, when she is 
 so rebellious against it." She bent down her face 
 over her folded arms, and said nothing: he had to 
 look away from her to go on in the same quiet imper 
 sonal tone. "When I came up here I saw only her 
 side. Every day since has been showing me your side 
 how fine and selfless your work is, how much you 
 care for her, how much it ought to mean for her good 
 just to live with a woman like you. And yet here she 
 is, bitter, resentful, every inch of her demanding her 
 freedom. And I cannot convince myself that she 
 hasn t a right to her own life. I felt it so that night 
 we danced she is so passionately alive. Surely, 
 surely, it isn t right to keep her cut off from everything 
 her nature demands." 
 
 "But she has not always been like this;" there 
 was a desolate note in Ellen s voice that wrung him. 
 "Until this spring she seemed fairly contented, a good 
 
 234 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 deal of the time. And it is only since she went down 
 to the tennis tournament that she has been so 
 so bitter. You must believe that." 
 
 "Of course I do. But now she is awake and you 
 can t put her to sleep again." 
 
 "You don t think she might find some inter 
 ests ?" Ellen spoke hopelessly, still with her head 
 bent down so that he could not see her face. 
 
 "No. I think you have got to let her go." But he 
 hated himself for saying it. "If money is a difficulty," 
 he began presently as she did not speak. 
 
 "Oh, no. It isn t that. Oh, if that were all!" 
 She rose abruptly, and all Ruth s passionate crying out 
 had never hurt him like the sight of tears on her cheeks. 
 Their battle was on, but she was not fighting, and all at 
 once he did not want to win. He started to his feet. 
 
 "Ellen, forgive me I am a fool!" 
 
 "You don t know, you don t understand," she said 
 brokenly. "I will tell you, some day. Now I want 
 to go." 
 
 He followed her down in silence, too heavy-hearted 
 for her to care whether or not he had liberated Ruth. 
 If she had only argued or protested, he could have 
 fought even tears; but this stricken silence left him 
 helpless. 
 
 The streets of the town were unusually empty, and 
 finally they spoke of it, but with no room in their minds 
 for any real wonder until a turn of the road brought 
 them in sight of an excited crowd clustered along the 
 sidewalk opposite the trim white cottage of the Finches. 
 
 235 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 A woman ran by them, crying, and instantly the crowd 
 gathered about her. Her tale was borne back towards 
 them in angry exclamations. Mothers clutched their 
 children and drew them away, and the groups shrank 
 back to either side as the woman, her tale ended, ran 
 up the walk and into the Finch cottage. Ellen caught 
 a hurrying mother. 
 
 "What is it? I must know." 
 
 "It s smallpox," was the breathless answer; "and 
 my Johnny, he played with Benjy the last day he was 
 out. Oh, my, my!" 
 
 "And Dr. Pocock won t come," volunteered another 
 woman. "Miss Murray, she saw Benjy this morning, 
 and she says, My God, Carrie Finch, that ain t no 
 chicken-pox it s smallpox, sure s you live! She 
 seen it before, and she run to the doctor. And he says, 
 yes, he knowed day before yesterday twas smallpox, 
 and he won t come. She s been again to beg him." 
 
 "Says it wouldn t be fair to his other cases," broke 
 in a man. "Scared!" 
 
 "Mean little skunk," added another. "I never did 
 set much store by him." 
 
 Amsden heard with a terrible dismay, knowing what 
 would come. Ellen handed him her letters and left 
 him without a word or a glance. 
 
 "There goes Dr. Ellen she ain t afraid!" ex 
 claimed a voice. It ran through the crowd like a 
 quick wind as Ellen crossed the road. "She ain t 
 afraid. She never held back from nothing! She ll 
 pull him through." Ellen, wholly unconscious of 
 
 236 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 everything but her purpose, had almost reached the 
 gate when Ned Spaulding broke from the crowd and 
 confronted her with uplifted arms. 
 
 "No! Don t let her kill any more children!" he 
 cried. "Let him die the Lord s own way, if he must. 
 Don t let s have no more doctor murder in our homes!" 
 
 The crowd stared, too bewildered for the moment to 
 take sides. Amsden started forward, but Ellen checked 
 him with a gesture. 
 
 "Ned Spaulding," she said clearly, "no child and 
 no grown person has ever died in this place through 
 my neglect or my indolence or my wilful ignorance. 
 I have given you all of you my human best, and 
 I demand that you recognize it." 
 
 They moved restlessly before her accusing eyes. 
 Spaulding laughed contemptuously, then his face 
 darkened as no one echoed him or rallied to his side. 
 Striding swiftly across her path, he stood blocking the 
 way like an ancient prophet, gaunt and gloomy, his 
 black eyes glowering at her, his great, bony hands 
 resting on the gate posts. 
 
 "You ll not go in to that child!" he shouted. Ellen 
 went towards him like an outraged Victory. 
 
 "Let me pass!" she said with a sternness before 
 which his eyes faltered ; his hands dropped to his sides. 
 Then a flush of rage mounted to his face as though at 
 his own wavering. He threw back his head, and one 
 hand made a quick movement towards his hip pocket. 
 Instantly, before Amsden could stir, the crowd was 
 upon him, women as well as men. He was seized, 
 
 237 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 hustled, dragged aside, shrill voices rose at him in 
 bitter denunciation. "We ve had enough of you, Ned 
 Spaulding!" the cry swept after him as they rushed 
 him down the street. A man might commit many 
 crimes in Gallop, but he might not put hand to his 
 gun against a woman, and by that movement Spauld 
 ing had hurled himself from his high position as 
 martyr. His face was bewildered, stricken, when 
 they let him go. There was no fight left in 
 him. 
 
 Amsden, sick at heart, waited with the rest for a 
 terrible twenty minutes. The air was filled with 
 threats of what would happen if Ellen were interfered 
 with, mingled with defiant praises of her, tardy recol 
 lections of her skill and devotion. What her simple 
 courage the night before had begun, Spaulding s ges 
 ture had completed; she was theirs wholly once more. 
 At last an excited woman opened the cottage door, and 
 ran down to the gate. 
 
 " Tain t smallpox at all," she announced joyfully. 
 " Old Pocock was wrong. It s just chicken-pox she 
 says so. I m going to stay and help; Miss Finch is 
 just about done up." 
 
 " Good for you, Miss Murray," called several voices 
 after her, as she hurried back. The crowd began to 
 move away. 
 
 "He don t even know smallpox from chicken-pox!" 
 was the universal comment. Everyone seemed sud 
 denly to remember some mistake Dr. Pocock had 
 made. The men laughed derisively. "Had his scare 
 
 238 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 for nothing!" they jeered. " Guess we ve had about 
 enough of him I 19 
 
 The street was deserted, except for Amsden, when 
 Ellen came out. Miss Finch followed her, and they 
 shook hands warmly at the door. Ellen was buoyant, 
 smiling, filled with the satisfaction of her work, a 
 mood that oppressed Amsden with a sense of the 
 distance between them, and the completeness of her 
 individual life. He repeated to her what he had 
 overheard in the crowd. 
 
 "Pocock has ended his career here, I imagine," he 
 added. "The blunder coming on top of the cowardice 
 was too much." 
 
 She laughed. "It is queer that he should fall by 
 this particular mistake; for, twenty-four hours ago, I 
 could not have told myself that it was not smallpox 
 no doctor could. There is often a stage where they 
 look precisely alike. He has made plenty of real 
 blunders, but this time it wasn t one at all." 
 
 "But the scare was; he falls righteously by that." 
 A shudder betrayed itself. "Oh, it was horrible, 
 seeing you go in there," he exclaimed. "And I couldn t 
 do it for you, I was utterly helpless." 
 
 "You couldn t even send me upstairs," she suggested 
 with a repressed smile. He laughed. 
 
 "Please forgive that. I have been amazed ever 
 since that you went, though I admit I expected it at 
 the time." 
 
 "You seemed to." 
 
 "Oh, Doctor, dear!" Mrs. Larsen was balancing 
 
 239 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 nervously in front of them. "The poor man, he don t 
 get well at all he s suffering something awful. And 
 you said, dear, that you d come back " 
 
 "Of course I will," said Ellen, laying a reassuring 
 hand on the meek little shoulder. 
 
 "And, Doctor, would you take a look at my sister?" 
 broke in a woman who had hurried after them. " Oh, 
 you re just fine," she added. "You re the doctor for 
 us." 
 
 Any group that paused in the town of Gallop in 
 stantly became the centre of a crowd. Men, women, 
 children, and dogs quickly gathered about Ellen; 
 hands were offered, shy apologies, hearty assurances 
 of loyalty. Amsden, crowded out, saw her face brighten 
 and soften, her eyes grow misty with kindness. Yes, 
 her work was splendidly worth while; he had to ac 
 knowledge that without reservations. He had never 
 admired her so deeply, or felt so far apart from her. 
 She went away to look at the sister without a word or 
 a glance for him. 
 
 The town seemed suddenly hot and dusty and 
 squalid, and he turned away from it to the canon that 
 opened like a giant cleft in the mountains above, 
 narrowing until it looked no more than a sharp knife- 
 thrust between granite walls. The tumult of the 
 creek compressed between its sides, the gold of the 
 sun-touched cliffs and the cold violet of the wall in 
 shadow, had been a delight to him before ; but now the 
 glory had gone off the world, his early morning elation 
 seemed a piece of childishness, his exultant night 
 
 240 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 watch a pompous and empty proceeding. Ellen 
 obviously had no real interest in him. 
 
 " God knows why she should have," he admitted in 
 bitter humility. The dense hopelessness that only 
 lack of food and sleep can give in its perfection clung 
 like a wet cloak to his shoulders. And yet he still 
 would not have believed that he loved Ellen 
 Chantry. 
 
 Half an hour s hard climbing softened the edges of 
 his gloom. He was beginning to wonder a little at the 
 acuteness of his recent misery, when, scrambling to 
 the top of a boulder, he saw something that for the 
 moment made him forget himself. On a rock just 
 ahead sat Spaulding, his head sunk between his shoul 
 ders, his hands hanging limply over his knees, his face 
 still heavy with bewilderment. The strength seemed 
 to have been stricken from him, and Amsden felt a 
 quick rush of pity, pity for the man s blundering, for 
 his humiliation. The brooding weakness behind the 
 rugged face was suddenly revealed to him. Without 
 any very clear purpose, he came and seated himself 
 on a neighbouring rock, fixing his eyes on the pool 
 under his feet. After a quick glance, Spaulding ignored 
 him, and they sat in silence for a long time, a silence 
 that seemed to draw out hostility as moist earth 
 draws the pain from a sting. At last Spaulding spoke, 
 without lifting his eyes. 
 
 " They ve all turned agen me every one on em. 
 They was with me, and then they turned. That s all 
 they re worth." Another long, healing silence brought 
 
 241 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 them still closer together. Spaulding drew a picture 
 from his coat pocket. 
 
 "That was her," he said. The cheap reproduction 
 had reduced the childish face to doll-like blankness, 
 but the poor finery of the little frock spoke eloquently. 
 Amsden looked at it with a quiet sympathy that brought 
 gruff confidences; the child s little ways and sayings, 
 her devotion to her father. "And choked to death!" 
 he ended with sudden fierceness. Amsden gave the 
 picture back, and let his hand fall on the man s drooping 
 shoulder. 
 
 "See here, Ned," he began, "I want to go off into 
 the mountains for a few days, and they tell me that 
 nobody knows them as you do. You come and act 
 as guide for me. I want some real climbing." A 
 glimmer of interest lighted Spaulding s eyes, though 
 he lowered them as if ashamed of it. 
 
 "When did you guess you d start?" he asked in 
 differently. 
 
 "Now." Amsden rose with contagious energy. 
 "You tell me what to get for our outfit, and I will be 
 up at your house early this afternoon. We will sleep 
 in camp to-night. Is it a go?" 
 
 "I don t mind," was the heavy answer; but Spauld 
 ing s shoulders had straightened. 
 
 242 
 
XVII 
 
 EARLY that same morning Ruth was awakened by 
 sounds from the next room. She listened lazily for a 
 while, wondering what Christine could be doing. 
 When the squeak of a dragged trunk came to her, she 
 put on a wrapper and went to investigate. 
 
 Christine was half dressed, and the bed was piled 
 high with clothes. The face she lifted from her open 
 trunk was curiously set. 
 
 "What are you doing?" Ruth demanded. 
 
 "I am going home to-day," was the curt answer. 
 
 "Well, for pity s sake, why?" 
 
 Christine folded a linen dress and laid it in the trunk 
 without answering, her lips tightly compressed. Ruth 
 closed the door, and seated herself on the edge of a 
 chair, watching her with eyes full of distress. 
 
 " Christine, if we have hurt you in any way, or said 
 anything, it honestly hasn t been intended," she said 
 gently. "Please don t be like this. I never dreamed 
 that you were offended about anything." 
 
 "It isn t you, Ruth." She tried to stop there, but 
 the inner tumult was too strong. "It is just that I 
 won t stay another day under the same roof with your 
 sister," she burst out. 
 
 243 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Oh, dear! I know Ellen is but she can t help 
 it, Christine. She isn t like us, that s all. Can t you 
 just not mind her?" 
 
 "Oh, it isn t her rudeness! I could stand that. I 
 could even overlook her taking possession of my private 
 letters yes, she did, Ruth, but it is no matter now. 
 But I can t stand seeing what is going on here with 
 that dreadful Philip Amsden " 
 
 "Christine!" Ruth had jumped up, white and 
 angry. "What do you mean!" Christine flung down 
 an armful of clothes, and faced her desperately. 
 
 "I mean that they re both bad! There, now! I 
 won t live in the house with such things, and I don t 
 think you ought to, either." 
 
 Ruth s colour came back and she gave a relieved 
 laugh. "You re crazy," she said calmly. 
 
 "Very well, perhaps I am;" and Christine wrapped 
 a hat in tissue with minute care, though her hands 
 shook visibly. 
 
 "Plain crazy," Ruth repeated with rising indigna 
 tion. "What could put such an idea into your head?" 
 
 "Well, perhaps you will explain to me why they were 
 off together in the woods half the night when we were 
 in camp." 
 
 "But they weren t!" 
 
 "I am sorry, but they were. I had been awake 
 hours, and there had not been a sound; then I saw 
 them coming back from somewhere together, she in 
 her wrapper with her hair down. He held her hand 
 and they whispered oh, it made me simply sick!" 
 
 244 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "You dreamed it," said Ruth; but her colour had 
 gone again. 
 
 "I wish I had." 
 
 "Why didn t you speak of it?" 
 
 "It didn t seem any of my business. And everyone 
 else seemed to think them both so perfect, I felt I ought 
 to give them the benefit of the doubt. There might 
 have been some explanation, though I confess I don t 
 see ! But after last night well, I shan t stay, that 
 is all. And I think you ought to come with me." 
 
 "What about last night?" Ruth asked in a fright 
 ened whisper. Christine turned away from the be 
 wildered eyes, and her voice was less hard as she went 
 on. 
 
 "The shade rattled and woke me up very early 
 it was barely light. I was getting up to fix it when I 
 heard a sound on the trail. Mr. Amsden was just 
 going down. I saw him distinctly." 
 
 The silence lasted so long that Christine became 
 frightened. 
 
 "I had to tell you, Ruth," she said uncomfortably. 
 
 "Of course. And it is all some mistake, some silly 
 misunderstanding;" Ruth spoke in a tired, faint little 
 voice, rising to her feet with an effort. "Ellen can 
 explain it. It is absurd to think anything wrong of 
 those two." 
 
 "Well, if she can explain all that away," began 
 Christine, vindictively. 
 
 "Why, of course she can. She has gone out, but I 
 will ride after her and find her. You must wait, 
 
 245 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Christine. You can t take to-day s stage. It isn t 
 fair not to wait till I have asked Ellen." 
 
 "I don t charge her with anything," said Christine, 
 quickly. "I am only telling you what I have seen." 
 
 "Yes, I know. Of course it is all a mistake." 
 Ruth pressed her hand to her forehead as though to 
 clear her thoughts. " Ellen will tell me the truth, you 
 know. She always does. Go and have your break 
 fast. I will find her." 
 
 She looked scarcely able to dress herself as she went 
 out, but Christine was afraid to follow her. She sat 
 huddled uncertainly among her things until she heard 
 a horse galloping off in the direction of the village. 
 
 The fact that Ellen had not taken a horse showed 
 that she had not gone far. Ruth meant to ask in the 
 village if anyone had seen her, but her heart was beating 
 so horribly that she could not trust her voice. She 
 rode slowly down the main street, looking right and 
 left with sick, frightened eyes that had no recognition 
 for acquaintances. When she was almost at the 
 bridge she saw them, Ellen and Amsden. They had 
 paused, and Ellen was looking down into the racing 
 water, but he was looking at Ellen. Then they went 
 on together, and the quality of their silence fell like a 
 garment of horror about the girl watching them. She 
 saw them leave the road and disappear among the 
 trees. 
 
 Turning her horse, she rode back through the village 
 quietly enough, though she put Eve to a gallop as soon 
 as they were outside. The mare struggled to take the 
 
 246 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 home road, but Ruth struck her savagely and they 
 flew on, anywhere, that she might get away from the 
 wild anger in her heart. Rory, standing at the gate, 
 saw her coming, and waved a welcome, but Ruth 
 stared at her unseeingly as she raced past. The white 
 face and reckless riding brought a smothered exclama 
 tion from Rory. She had a glimpse of the truth. 
 
 " She s heard, and heard wrong," she muttered. 
 " Oh, if I had my arm, now!" The black horse whin 
 nied suggestively to her over the bars of the corral. 
 Rory stood biting her lower lip, her eyes on her band 
 aged arm; then she brought a bridle and slipped it 
 over his head. "You ride better than you drive 
 or, at least, not much worse," she muttered. "I ve 
 got to look after that child." 
 
 She managed to saddle with one hand, and rode out 
 bare-headed, avoiding the house and her mother. As 
 the horse broke into an eager canter, she dropped the 
 reins about the pommel and clutched her left forearm. 
 
 "It don t hurt much," she gasped. 
 
 Ruth galloped on until Eve was streaked with foam, 
 and the wild confusion in her heart died down, leaving 
 the place of her deepest wound uncovered to her deso 
 late eyes. When at last she let the horse settle to a 
 tired walk, it was not Amsden who held her thoughts, 
 nor her own hopes and desires. Her faith in Ellen 
 had been the big, sound centre of her life, the star by 
 which she knew infallibly where the right course lay. 
 She had fought her sister, resented her, at times almost 
 hated her; but she had believed in her as she had never 
 
 247 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 believed in God or creed. And now it was as though 
 the stars themselves had fallen. She was lost in the 
 dark: there was no right and no wrong, and no human 
 faith was justified if Ellen was not true to herself. 
 
 "I can t bear it, I can t!" she cried at last, pressing 
 her hands to her temples. And then she wondered 
 with sick iteration what people did when they could 
 not bear it. Perhaps they died ? The idea brought a 
 cool breath of relief. There was nothing to stay for, 
 now, and to her passionate impatience of suffering 
 another day such as this was the unbearable ordeal, 
 not dark, quiet death. And it would hurt them, these 
 two who had been cheating her: there was grim satis 
 faction in that thought. For the first time she looked 
 to see where she was. 
 
 The shadow of a granite cliff lay over the road. 
 Below, through a fringe of willows, shone the pale face 
 of a tiny mountain lake, a pond in width, though no 
 line had ever fathomed its secret depths. Ruth dis 
 mounted, leaving the horse free, and, climbing down 
 the steep bank, parted the band of low bushes that 
 hedged the pool. They sprang together behind her 
 like a door closing on a hateful street, and the cool 
 room that received her was redolent of peace and 
 secrecy. Its silver floor was so narrow that the crowded 
 willows kept it in shadow: at their feet about the rim 
 ran a border of late flowers, doubled in the rippleless 
 surface. Ruth knelt at the margin and dipped one 
 hand into the water; its tingling cold had a welcome 
 purity. She had not committed herself to any inten- 
 
 248 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 tion, yet some vague thought of a prayer crossed her 
 mind. She tried to remember one, but the haunting 
 words of the old darky song crowded it out. She 
 crooned them under her breath: 
 
 " Sometimes I feel like a motherless chile, 
 Feel like a motherless chi le, 
 Feel like a motherless chile " 
 
 After all, why say prayers? If there was no Ellen, 
 there was assuredly no God. The smothering trouble 
 dragged its weight over her, crushing out the momentary 
 peace. No, she could not bear it. And there was 
 nothing left in life. She dipped her hands to the 
 wrists in the welcome cold. 
 
 "Hello, Ruth," said a commonplace voice. Rory s 
 face, oddly white and lined, was looking casually over 
 the thicket. "Nice spot for a picnic. Wait till I 
 come in there, now." She worked her way through 
 the bushes, emerging with a set smile on her grim 
 little face. "I saw you ride by, and I couldn t resist a 
 ride myself, so I came along," she explained. 
 
 Ruth, sinking back on her heels, looked at her re 
 motely, conscious only of a vague shame at being 
 caught. But Rory seemed to suspect nothing. She 
 seated herself on the ground, talking cheerfully of un 
 important matters that required no answers. 
 
 "You didn t fasten the mare very good," she threw 
 in. "You d have had a good walk home if I hadn t 
 come along. And Dr. Ellen has trouble enough on 
 her hands without you doing yourself up." Ruth had 
 
 249 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 winced and turned her head away at Ellen s name. 
 Sure now of her attention, Rory plunged in: "Did 
 she tell you the low trick some of the boys played on 
 her that first night up in camp?" Ruth shrank away 
 with a tense shake of her head, and Rory, tossing 
 pebbles into the pond, went on with the tale of the 
 dummy child and the moonlight burial. "Mr. Ams- 
 den dug the grave for it with the potato shovel I 
 wondered what had come over it the next day," she 
 concluded. "Wasn t that the mean trick, though!" 
 It was hard to meet unmoved the face Ruth turned to 
 her so tremulous and eager, so pitifully afraid of 
 hope. 
 
 "They went off to bury the thing?" she stam 
 mered. 
 
 "Sure. Nice job it must have been." 
 
 "But where was Mr. Amsden last night? Why was 
 he ?" Ruth cared nothing for appearances, but 
 Rory doggedly kept them up. 
 
 " Oh, he slep out doors you d believe it if you saw 
 his blankets, one mass of pine needles," she grumbled. 
 "I shouldn t wonder if he was afraid Spaulding or 
 Pocock would play some fresh trick on you, and just 
 slep up there near the cabin to be on hand in case of 
 trouble. I must say twould be like him: he s real 
 kind. My, that lecture s made a stir. I m that 
 mad I didn t get to it. Mama went, but my old 
 arm" 
 
 Ruth had flung herself face down on the ground, 
 and was sobbing with a violence that racked her from 
 
 250 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 head to foot. After a few moments Rory grew fright 
 ened and drew the helpless figure up against her hard 
 little breast. 
 
 " There, now, child, don t you, now," she muttered. 
 "It s all right. You ve heard some fool talk, I ll be 
 bound, but you mustn t mind that. There s no end 
 to the foul tongues, but they can t touch a woman like 
 Dr. Ellen. Steady, now child, you ll founder your 
 self if you don t pull up!" 
 
 Ruth gradually grew quiet, and presently lay still 
 but for the involuntary shudders left by the storm of 
 tears. The look of pain deepened about Rory s mouth, 
 and once or twice her eyes closed with a suggestion of 
 faintness, but she did not stir until Ruth slowly dragged 
 herself up and stooped to bathe her face. 
 
 "Oh, Rory," she said brokenly, "I shan t mind any 
 thing now, not even if he cares for her. Do you think 
 he does?" 
 
 "No such luck," was the sharp answer. "You ll 
 not catch a man caring for a fine woman like that so 
 long as there s fools left free. Come on, now: we ve a 
 good twelve miles to go, and my arm don t feel any too 
 good." 
 
 "You oughtn t to be riding yet," said Ruth, absently. 
 
 "I dare say you re right," Rory conceded. 
 
 Long before the ride was done, all traces of the 
 storm had left Ruth s sky: she sat her saddle in smiling 
 peace, Ellen and righteousness restored to their places, 
 and all things well with the world. Her head ached, 
 but she was too happy to care. Rory, who had grown 
 
 251 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 very unresponsive, pulled up at her gate with a sup 
 pressed sigh of relief. 
 
 "Will you ask Dr. Ellen to drop in and look me 
 over?" she said, dismounting with weary caution. 
 
 "You should not have ridden but I am awfully 
 glad you did;" and Ruth, stooping from the saddle, 
 kissed the small brown face. 
 
 "Oh, go long!" muttered Rory, turning away. 
 
 It was long past lunch time, but, as Ellen had not 
 been home, Ruth called up her office and found her 
 there. Oh, that warm, true, strong voice! Surely 
 she could never again be hateful to Ellen. Tears came 
 back to her eyes as she gave Rory s message. 
 
 "Riding, was she? Well, she deserves it," com 
 mented Ellen. "I shall tell her so." 
 
 "Aren t you coming home for lunch ?" Ruth s voice 
 was warm and sweet, and Ellen responded gratefully. 
 
 "I am too busy, dear. Miss Gowdy gave me some. 
 Have you had a nice morning?" Ruth laughed a 
 little, but did not answer. 
 
 "Well, good-by," she said. 
 
 She started to find Christine, but was checked by 
 the sight of a note addressed to her on the table. It 
 was from Amsden, and merely said that he had gone 
 off for a few days in the mountains with Spaulding as 
 guide: he was sorry not to see her before starting. 
 Ruth read it with a sense of relief. She did not want 
 to feel anything more now just to be peaceful and 
 quiet and thankful that the world was good and 
 true. 
 
 252 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Well?" said Christine s voice from the head of the 
 stairs. 
 
 "Oh, Christine, we are two silly idiots," said Ruth. 
 "You don t need to leave this house, my dear. But, 
 for pity s sake, get me something to eat!" 
 
 While she was telling her tale to a very much sub 
 dued Christine, Ellen was making an indignant exam 
 ination of Rory s arm. It was not injured, though the 
 pain was great, and was likely to last some time. She 
 relieved her mind with a severe lecture, which the girl 
 accepted with abject meekness, though there was 
 suppressed humour in the twist of her mouth. 
 
 "I m a bad lot. There s no trusting me," she 
 assented. "A horse has just got to put his nose over 
 the bars and off I go, arm or no arm. You d best turn 
 me over to Pocock; I m not worth your time and 
 trouble." 
 
 "I certainly should, only I have a feeling that he is 
 preparing to leave town. Really, Rory, I have always 
 supposed you had sense: I can t understand your being 
 such a little fool." 
 
 "I know. I m like that plain unreliable;" and 
 Rory shook her head over her own depravity. Ellen 
 eyed her suspiciously. 
 
 "Rory Dorn, you are too meek to be natural," she 
 exclaimed. "There is something in this that I don t 
 understand. Why don t you tell me the whole truth?" 
 
 "But haven t I told you just what happened ? Ruth 
 rides by, and says I, I ll join her, so I go galloping 
 after; and we come home together. She d not tell you 
 
 2 53 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 any different." Ellen was not satisfied, but she gave 
 it up. 
 
 "You are an inscrutable young person," she com 
 mented. "I will give you something to make you 
 sleep to-night, though you deserve to lie awake think 
 ing of your own folly. At least, I think you do," she 
 amended gravely. Rory s eyes fell before hers. 
 
 "Sure you re right there," she affirmed. 
 
 254 
 
XVIII 
 
 " SATURDAY, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, 
 Thursday, I think Mr. Amsden must have fallen 
 down a cliff or something," said Christine, dropping 
 her book over the side of the hammock, and yawning 
 behind a clenched fist. 
 
 44 More likely Spaulding has pushed him over," com 
 mented Wallace from the bearskin close beside her, 
 where he was stretched full length. "What did he 
 say in his note, Ruth?" 
 
 Ruth, who was staring down the wind-swept valley, 
 bleak and forbidding under a muffled sky, did not 
 turn her head from the window. 
 
 "Nothing much," she answered listlessly; "just that 
 he was going off for a few days mountaineering with 
 Spaulding." 
 
 "Pretty mean of him, our last week up here," Wal 
 lace said, his eyes following the path of Christine s 
 slipper as he swung her gently by the fringe of the 
 hammock. "Shall we go off to-morrow without him 
 if he doesn t show up?" 
 
 "We must," said Christine, "Our rooms are all 
 engaged at Del Monte." She let her hand drop over 
 
 2 55 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 the side of the hammock, where it swung just above 
 Wallace s eyes. 
 
 "And I have to get to work," he added. The ham 
 mock had come to an abrupt stop. 
 
 "Ruth, Willie is holding my hand," complained 
 Christine, presently. Ruth turned towards them with 
 an effort at brightness. 
 
 "Good for him," she said. "I wish someone would 
 hold mine." 
 
 "Come on; I ve got another hand," offered Wallace 
 amiably, moving over to make more room on the 
 bearskin. She came and sat down beside him. There 
 was kindly understanding in his gentleness as he put 
 his arm about her. Ruth s spirits responded at once. 
 
 "There are times," she said demurely, "when that 
 feels very good from most anyone." 
 
 "I like that!" objected Wallace. 
 
 "I don t think she is a nice girl," said Christine, 
 primly, drawing away her hand. "I don t think we d 
 better take her back with us; do you?" She had 
 lowered her voice, and they all glanced towards the 
 doors. 
 
 "Have you broken it to Ellen yet?" Wallace asked. 
 Ruth shook her head. 
 
 "I have been feeling so done up these last few days. 
 There was no sense in bringing it up until I was sure I 
 could go." 
 
 "Oh, the change will do you good," Christine urged. 
 "You can t go back on that embroidered blue linen." 
 
 "I wish I didn t feel mean about it," sighed Ruth. 
 256 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "You have the silliest conscience I ever knew!" 
 Christine was indignant. "You wouldn t expect her 
 to sacrifice every minute of her life to little sister s 
 hobby, would you? Very well, then! I declare, it is 
 partly your fault she s such a tyrant, you re so ever 
 lastingly scrupulous and polite. Honestly, I don t 
 believe she has half known how you felt." Ruth 
 laughed. 
 
 "Don t scold me. I am not really scrupulous, I 
 only talk so. I may hate my sins, but I go right on 
 committing them." 
 
 "And that is what makes you endurable," added 
 Christine, at which they all laughed. "Ugh, isn t it a 
 nasty day," she added, as a fiercer gust shook the 
 cabin, and left the windows chattering. 
 
 Wallace sat up with sudden energy. 
 
 "I don t believe it is half so bad outside as it is in 
 here listening to it," he declared. "Come on, reef 
 yourselves as tight as you can and we ll take a walk." 
 
 "Oh, no," moaned Christine. 
 
 "Oh, come on. Don t you want an appetite for 
 your last supper? Leaving Ying is no joke, for me." 
 
 "And we thought it was us that kept you!" 
 
 "Well, you thought wrong. Jump up, now, let s be 
 strenuous." He tipped Christine out of the hammock 
 with little ceremony, and presently they went off to 
 gether, not visibly downcast at Ruth s refusal to join 
 them. 
 
 She, left alone, curled down on the bearskin and 
 presently fell asleep. When she awoke, an hour later, 
 
 257 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Ellen was sitting near, looking at her with such troubled 
 eyes that Ruth felt a clutch of fright for what she might 
 have said or shown in her sleep. 
 
 "What are you staring at me for?" she asked re 
 sentfully, sitting up. 
 
 Ellen spoke impulsively. "Oh, Ruth, I shall be 
 glad when these people are gone." 
 
 "Well, I shan t," was the curt answer. "I think it 
 is rather unkind of you to grudge me the little fun I can 
 get." She was twisting up her hair, with face averted. 
 Ellen rose and turned to the door; then she came slowly 
 back. 
 
 "I wish we could be better friends, Ruth," she said 
 in a low voice. "You are all I have in the world, but 
 I can t seem to I am stupid, I say things that hurt 
 and offend you, without in the least knowing why. 
 We are both lonely. If you would only let me 
 love you." 
 
 Ruth s head had sunk till her face was wholly hidden. 
 
 "I suppose it s this abnormal life," she said with 
 difficulty, after a pause. "I am not happy, and so 
 I take it out on you. I can t help it. I can t. I do 
 hate it so!" She was crying, but the look on Ellen s 
 face was sadder than tears. 
 
 "You didn t hate it the first two years; at least, you 
 seemed fairly contented," she urged. "It is only since 
 this spring that you have been so restless. Don t you 
 think you could get interested in something " 
 
 "No, I don t!" Ruth jumped up fiercely. "And I 
 think you are mean, mean, to keep me here!" She 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 ran up the stairs and the door slammed after her. 
 Ellen pressed her palms to her temples, then let her 
 hands drop. 
 
 "The minute they are gone, I shall tell her," she 
 said aloud. 
 
 Ying s supper was half cold when Christine and 
 Wallace came back, the former very full of laughter, 
 very mischievous and important, the latter one broad, 
 sheepish grin. They took their places and tried to 
 talk as usual, but even Ying, waiting on them, had his 
 suspicions aroused. He chuckled softly as he went 
 out, then thrust back his bony yellow face through the 
 narrowest possible opening of the door. 
 
 "Miss Clistine, I guess she catch im husband," he 
 confided in a falsetto whisper, and vanished. Wal 
 lace s roar of laughter was a confession in itself; also 
 an irresistible example. They all shouted. Their 
 congratulations were offered with wet eyes and helpless 
 relapses. 
 
 "We were going to keep it a dead secret," Wallace 
 confessed. "I guess we d better give up that idea, 
 Christine. Won t old Amsden be surprised!" 
 
 "Rory won t," said Ruth, sagely. 
 
 "Good little Rory let s all go down after supper 
 and tell her," suggested Wallace. Christine looked 
 dubious. 
 
 "She s such a cross little thing you can tell her 
 by yourself. I ve worn myself out going down there, 
 and she isn t a bit appreciative." 
 
 " Oh, yes, she is, only she s shy," said Wallace, con- 
 259 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 fidently. "Isn t there someone else we can tell? I 
 think it s fun." 
 
 "Tell what?" asked a voice from the other end of 
 the room. The porch door swung back, and Amsden, 
 sunburned and wideawake, stood smiling on them. 
 His eyes went straight to Ellen; then the others, jump 
 ing up, surrounded him with joyous welcome, and 
 brought him back to the table with a deluge of ques 
 tions. He held Ellen s hand for an instant, and 
 dropped into his chair with the satisfaction of one who 
 returns home. 
 
 "Tell what?" he insisted. 
 
 Wallace laid one hand on Christine s shoulder, and 
 thrust the other into his coat, the standard bride-and- 
 groom grouping of the Gallop photographer. "This," 
 he explained. 
 
 Amsden looked disappointed. " Is that all ? I could 
 have told you about that before I left." The two 
 were indignant. 
 
 "Did you hear that!" exclaimed Wallace. "Isn t 
 he the patronizing ! Man, it hadn t happened 
 then." 
 
 "Oh, yes, it had. You were a little slow about 
 knowing it, that was all." 
 
 "Perhaps you will be good enough to give us the 
 correct date? It may be needed for our biographies." 
 
 "Let me see: I should say it was the night Miss 
 O Hara set the table in a blue-checked apron." 
 
 "You ought to have told us," said Christine. "We 
 have lost several weeks. Just when did you give us 
 
 260 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 your best wishes?" He laughed and rose to shake 
 hands with them. 
 
 "You ve had them all along," he said; "only I have 
 forgotten my manners, living in the wilderness with 
 Spaulding." 
 
 "Tell us about it," urged Ruth, whose face had lifted 
 like a flower put into water during the past few minutes. 
 
 "It was great great," said Amsden, but he seemed 
 reluctant to talk on the subject. They got little out of 
 him. 
 
 Presently Christine and Wallace drifted off to the 
 other end of the long room. Amsden begged for more 
 coffee, and when Ruth had gone to get it, he turned 
 quickly to Ellen. 
 
 "Spaulding won t give you any more trouble. We 
 have had it all out, and he understands now. The 
 climbing rather cleared and steadied him, and he is 
 sorry. He asked me to tell you so." 
 
 "It was good of you it was fine. I shall never 
 forget it." Her voice was warm and quick. 
 
 "I can t go away to-morrow without a talk with 
 you," he went on. "There will be no chance to-night. 
 Can t you manage it meet me somewhere in the 
 morning? Am I asking too much?" 
 
 Her eyes fell. "I think perhaps we had better not. 
 It will only make things harder." 
 
 "Nothing is so hard as not knowing. I must see 
 you, Ellen." Ruth s step was heard. 
 
 "I shall be at the post-office at eight," Ellen said, 
 rising and turning away. 
 
 261 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Amsden did not stay long. He was tired, and had 
 to get his things together. 
 
 "But I shall not say Good-by to-night," he told 
 Ruth. "The stage doesn t start until half-past nine, 
 so I will be up again. Or will you see us off?" She 
 smiled, with a quick glance at Christine. 
 
 "Oh, I shall see you," she assured him. 
 
 At the cottage he was greeted with thanksgiving by 
 Mrs. Dorn, who had daily prophesied a broken neck 
 for him, and with a sardonic grin from Rory. 
 
 "If you ve no bones broke, you can thank my 
 mother," she assured him when he had asked about 
 her arm. "She s not done a stroke of work just 
 sat at the window and concentrated on you. I haven t 
 had a square meal." 
 
 "You do look thin," Amsden assented. 
 
 "Thin! There isn t a pick on me; you could blow 
 me off your hand." 
 
 " Oh, Rory, be still. How you do go on," grumbled 
 Mrs. Dorn, retreating to fill Amsden s pitcher. He 
 seated himself on a corner of the kitchen table. 
 
 " Have you heard the news about your other lodger ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 "I can guess it." Rory s mouth drew down ex 
 pressively. "If Mama could have put her attention 
 on him, now! Twould have saved him worse than a 
 cracked bone or two." 
 
 "Miss O Hara is an easy-going sort of girl," he 
 argued. "She will be pleasant about the house." 
 
 "A fool s a fool. He ll not get any congratulations 
 262 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 here. Do you wonder I ve no use for the men, when 
 they have so little sense? And Dr. Ellen there in 
 plain sight!" 
 
 He laughed. "Rory, you are too good to spend 
 your life in Gallop. What would you like to do? 
 Perhaps I could help you." She wagged a negative. 
 
 "Naw, naw! If you re not after the men, one place 
 is as good as another. So long as there s horses to 
 handle, it s good enough for me. If they gave out " 
 
 He wrote his address on a slip of paper. "If they 
 give out, there I am," he said. "I am going to keep 
 an eye out for you, anyway. Good-night." 
 
 "You re real kind," Rory admitted. 
 
 263 
 
XIX 
 
 THOSE days in the mountains had been the most 
 wonderful experience of Amsden s life. Spaulding had 
 led him up and up, beyond the forests, beyond the 
 living earth, into a strange, bleak world of granite 
 domes and turrets and spires where the wind came 
 down from snows that never melted, and the blue of 
 the noon sky had the dark of night against the white 
 glare of the naked precipices. They had climbed and 
 slid and jumped chasms and struggled up sharp pin 
 nacles of rock and stood clinging against the wind to 
 stare down a frozen sea of peaks, vast upheavals seem 
 ingly stricken to immobility in the moment of their 
 wildest tumult. To come down out of this blinding 
 savagery to the green grass of meadows and the fa 
 miliar trunks of pines was to exchange awe for exhilara 
 tion. The thrust of Amsden s hands into his pockets 
 was equivalent to another man s shout. 
 
 Through every hour of the way Ellen had been 
 beside him, like a living presence against his arm. 
 Her sure step echoed his on the cliffs; the splendours 
 of dawn and sunset were for them both together; the 
 firelight brought her serene face out of the shadows. 
 He now knew what it was, this amazing experience 
 
 264 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 that had caught him out of his shell and overturned his 
 neat scale of values, giving him the deep breath of a 
 living man. And he used to believe that the power of 
 love was a thing vastly exaggerated. He remembered 
 how he had lain in the hollow on Lone Cedar coolly 
 considering whether Ruth might not "do," and a 
 flush of shame swept through him. 
 
 "What an ass I was, what a blind prig!" he muttered. 
 "Ellen, Ellen!" The word seemed to be in every 
 sound, every bird note and ripple of water and stir of 
 wind; his feet walked to it in rhythmic repetition; he 
 said it aloud after Spaulding was asleep, and it sent a 
 pang through him like the humming of a plucked 
 string. He had no plans, and he did not once despair. 
 He was still absorbed in his wonder at the miracle. 
 
 The first day or two they talked little, though the 
 friendliness between them grew to friendship as they 
 learned to respect each other s cheerful acceptance of 
 hardship. Amsden did not for a moment lose sight 
 of his purpose in coming, but bided his time. It 
 was not until they crossed the timber line again that 
 Spaulding returned to his grievance. 
 
 Amsden, his back against a log and his feet to the 
 camp-fire, let him say every bitter word that was in 
 his mind; then he turned on him and told him, without 
 temper or palliation, what a wrong-headed part he had 
 been playing. Spaulding grew sullen and left him, 
 building his own fire half a mile away, but in the morn 
 ing he was back. After the long, healing day he re 
 turned to the charge, but feebly, with evident effort. 
 
 265 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Amsden met him inflexibly, and again the man went 
 off; but, an hour or two later, Amsden was awakened 
 by a touch on his arm. The firelight, falling on the 
 sharp black and white of Spaulding s face, showed it 
 cleared of its gloomy hostility. 
 
 "I guess I ben a fool," he said. "Tell her so, will 
 you?" Amsden grasped his hand with a satisfaction 
 amazing in its intensity. Long after the other was 
 asleep he lay with his head on his arm, staring into the 
 embers, rejoicing that this man had worked out his 
 freedom. 
 
 "I wonder if Gilfillan feels like this all the time?" 
 was his startled thought as he settled down to sleep. 
 Then he reached out his hand in the dark, and his 
 fingers closed as though on another hand. "But I did 
 it my part of it for Ned, not for you, beloved," 
 he whispered. 
 
 The morning after his return the thought that he was 
 to meet Ellen put off realization of the fact that he was 
 to leave her. He started up, but felt a shock of appre 
 hension at sight of a note thrust under his door. Be 
 fore he opened it he knew it meant that he should not 
 see her. 
 
 The note was as bald as a telegram, and merely 
 stated that she had been called to a case fifteen miles 
 away, and might not be back for several days. "So I 
 shall not see you again," it ended. A refusal to meet 
 him might have meant something; but this was as im 
 penetrable as a blind wall. He flung himself down, 
 
 266 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 sick at heart, and did not stir until Wallace shouted to 
 him that he would be late. When he came out, he 
 found a stack of luggage in the hall. 
 
 "You ought to have seen me coming down the trail 
 with those bags last night; heard me, rather," laughed 
 Wallace. "We had to sneak them out without Ying s 
 seeing." 
 
 "But why?" asked Amsden, listlessly, leaning against 
 the wall to watch Wallace s neat packing. 
 
 "For fear he d suspect. Oh, don t you know that 
 Ruth is going with us?" 
 
 "Why didn t she speak of it last night, then?" 
 
 "Well, she hadn t had it out with Ellen. She was 
 just going to, after you left, when a cart came up and 
 scurried Ellen away I guess it s a baby. You got 
 her note?" 
 
 "Yes." Amsden was frowning. "And so Ruth is 
 going without telling her ? " 
 
 "Had to. She will send back a note, of course. 
 Ying would raise the deuce, she says, so we are going 
 to put these bags on here at the gate, to avoid questions. 
 He s a keen old boy. Guess we d better go down to 
 breakfast; it s late." 
 
 Amsden followed downstairs in worried silence. "I 
 don t think Ruth ought to do it," he said abruptly, 
 when Mrs. Dorn had served them and left the room. 
 "It isn t treating Mrs. Roderick fairly. She ought to 
 have had it out, and then gone openly. I have half a 
 mind to go up and tell her so." 
 
 "Well, you re too late," was the placid answer. 
 267 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "They were afraid Ellen might get back this morning 
 and meet the stage twould have been awkward ! 
 So little sister and Christine lit out early by the Lone 
 Cedar trail. They will hit the stage about three miles 
 from here Ellen s road branches off before that. 
 Great scheme, wasn t it?" Amsden made no answer. 
 "I don t see why you re so grumpy about it," com 
 mented Wallace. 
 
 "Well, look here. We have been Mrs. Roderick s 
 guests for a month it is all hers. We know she 
 doesn t wish her sister to leave her, and the minute her 
 back is turned, we entice Ruth to run away. She 
 ought at least to have had a chance to express her 
 mind. I think it is discourteous and abominable. I 
 won t stand for it." 
 
 "What will you do?" 
 
 "Stay here till she comes back, and explain." 
 
 "But you said this was the last day you could pos 
 sibly" 
 
 "This is more important than work." 
 
 Wallace peevishly sawed at the Dorn beefsteak. 
 "You ve gone cracked, living with Spaulding. How 
 you can stay to make speeches to Ellen, when you 
 might be playing with Ruth !" 
 
 Amsden spoke sharply: "I am not going to be rude 
 to the finest woman I have ever known!" Wallace s 
 look grew to a stare; then he slowly laid down his 
 knife and fork. 
 
 "Are you in love with Ellen Chantry ?" he demanded. 
 
 "Yes," was the curt answer. 
 268 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 "Do you mean you want to marry her?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I don t believe it!" 
 
 "Very well, don t." 
 
 Wallace took up his fork again, then laid it down. 
 "Does Ruth know it?" 
 
 "I don t know; but I want her to." Wallace re 
 lapsed into gloomy silence, which lasted until nearly 
 time for the stage. Then he heaved himself up with 
 a sigh. 
 
 "Well, I guess you d better stay, then," he said. 
 " But it beats me! What shall I tell the girls?" 
 
 "Why not the truth?" 
 
 "H m. Nice job you ve given me," Wallace mut 
 tered. 
 
 The first day of his waiting did not seem long to 
 Amsden, for a pile of letters demanded his attention, 
 and he was tired enough to find sitting still a relief. 
 At noon the next day he mounted to the cabin, but 
 found it deserted, with dusty porch and locked doors. 
 There was no sign of Ying. Amsden remembered a 
 squalid Chinese settlement down by the creek, and 
 wondered if Ying could consort with such of his kind. 
 It might be natural, but the idea irritated him. The 
 horses were not in the shed; but Ellen had probably 
 ordered them turned out before she left. That after 
 noon he climbed to a point whence he could see the 
 bald mountain, fifteen miles away, which Gilfillan had 
 pointed out to him the day they walked down Lone 
 
 269 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Cedar together. " Strong as a man, gentle as a woman, 
 ready to work day and night to make it safe and sure;" 
 the preacher s words came back to him, and stayed in 
 his head like the burden of a song. 
 
 After that the days dragged unbearably. The 
 exaltation of the high mountains left him, and Amsden 
 was as moody and despairing as any other lover; he 
 had no resource but to haunt the empty cabin, which 
 had already taken on a look of blind desolation. Ying 
 did not return, and he was moved to bitter reflections 
 on the faithlessness of Orientals. 
 
 Every evening he climbed to a point whence he could 
 see if the lights were lit. He had just given up and 
 gone in on the sixth night when a cart put down a 
 tired figure at the cabin door. Ellen sent a puzzled 
 look at the dark windows, then, after knocking in vain, 
 found a key under the mat, and let herself into the 
 living-room, musty with stale air. Lights revealed a 
 funereal orderliness of furniture, and a thick film of 
 dust. The kitchen showed the same unused aspect, 
 and a cold stove. She knocked at the door of Ying s 
 room, then pushed it open, chilled with a sudden fear; 
 but there was no one there, nor in the rooms upstairs, 
 nor in the shed. Ellen had been up day and night, 
 for her patient had needed her desperately, and the 
 woman who was expected to come as nurse had been 
 detained; she was hungry and cold and worn out, and 
 the emptiness frightened her. Suddenly she sobbed 
 wretchedly, standing with her palms pressing her 
 cheeks. Then she took herself in hand and got to- 
 
 270 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 gether a supper of canned things and tea, and built a 
 fire in the living-room. The absence of some of Ruth s 
 clothes suggested that she had gone with Christine; 
 but what about Ying the faithful? Had everyone 
 deserted her? 
 
 Uneasiness deepened to nervous terror at the breath 
 less silence of the place. She lit the candles all round 
 the walls and lay down on the hearthrug with a cushion, 
 too wretched to go to bed. Once the thought of Mr. 
 Gilfillan brought quick comfort, and she hurried to 
 the telephone ; it was out of order, and she could get no 
 answer. Then she cried again, scorning herself for 
 her weakness, but too spent to fight it. Ten o clock 
 came, then eleven. One of the candles was sputtering, 
 and she rose to put it out, then paused with lifted hands, 
 her eyes fixed on the door. 
 
 There was a step on the trail, mounting steadily; 
 now it had reached the porch, crossed it, halted at the 
 door. It came strongly, like that of a friend, yet she 
 could not move. The knock was repeated, then a 
 voice, Amsden s voice, asked: 
 
 "Are you there, Mrs. Roderick?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," she called, throwing back the door. In 
 her relief she held out her arms to him, not knowing 
 what she did; then drew back, flushing scarlet. 
 
 "I have been so frightened I am not responsible," 
 she said. "Where are they? What has happened? 
 Why are you here?" 
 
 "I waited for you," he explained, following her to 
 the hearth-rug. "I couldn t bear that you should 
 
 271 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 think I had abetted Ruth in running away. I thought 
 you ought to have been told." 
 
 "Where has she gone?" 
 
 11 To Del Monte with the O Haras." 
 
 "And you let her go!" There was strong reproach 
 in Ellen s voice. 
 
 "How could I stop her? Besides, I didn t see any 
 harm in her going; it was her not telling you first that 
 I blamed." 
 
 "Why didn t Ying stop it?" 
 
 "He didn t know. He has been gone all the week, 
 I don t know where." 
 
 She faced him in sudden anger. "And you couldn t 
 trust me that my reasons against it were real ones ! 
 Oh, I have tried to spare her, I have tried. I thought 
 I could get her wholly well up here, and she need never 
 know. Now she has to face it." 
 
 "Face it?" he repeated. 
 
 She nodded. Evidently the word was hard to say. 
 She laid her hands on her chest. 
 
 "Oh, you don t mean !" But he knew she did. 
 
 "Yes." She dropped into a chair, and leaned her 
 head on her hands. "It came after her illness three 
 years ago ; but her doctor and I believed this life would 
 wholly cure it. Last spring she seemed really well 
 again. Then I let her go down to the tournament, 
 and when she came back I saw - "she broke off, and 
 presently went on from a new point: "I wanted her to 
 have this one good time with you all before she had to 
 know." 
 
 272 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 " Then it was for her, your life up here all for her ?" 
 
 "Yes, of course. But I have gained out of it im 
 mensely," she added quickly. "It was not lost time." 
 
 "Oh, and I judged you, I blamed you!" He knelt 
 down by her chair, and bent his forehead against her 
 knee. "Can you ever forgive me?" Her fingers 
 passed slowly over his hair. 
 
 "It was natural. Besides, I was to blame. I 
 ought to have told her in the first place. It was tyran 
 nical, to try to bear her burden for her. I have made 
 her hate me." He drew closer and took both her 
 hands in his. 
 
 "She will love you when she understands." 
 
 "No; she will resent it. Oh, I have failed, failed 
 everywhere." She drew her hands away and started 
 from her chair. "She can love other people, but not 
 me. It was the same in my marriage," she went on 
 impetuously. "We were both very young, but my 
 husband had always been the centre of an adoring 
 family of women, helpless women, and my life had 
 made me more mature. He hated me for it, 
 just as Ruth does. Oh, I tried so hard not to be 
 it was like walking with bent knees, so as not to seem 
 taller. I didn t care about anything on earth but 
 keeping him you know how one loves at twenty." 
 
 "I know," Amsden repeated, his eyes lifted to her 
 face. 
 
 "But it was no use. It was always there, and he 
 couldn t forgive it. He said to me once, No man 
 could stay in love with you you re too infernally 
 
 273 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 strong. That was the day before he you knew he 
 was killed? It isn t the sort of thing one forgets!" 
 
 Amsden had no consciousness of rising, but he 
 found himself standing in front of her, his hands on 
 her shoulders. 
 
 "He didn t know. I shall love you till the last hour 
 of my life. How can I make you understand how 
 can I make you care for me?" 
 
 Her eyes fell. "I had put it all so far away from 
 me," she said; but she let him draw her close and 
 closer. The miracle had sprung to life full grown 
 between them. It was in their hands, and their grave 
 eyes, and their meeting lips. 
 
 "I can t believe it, that you care now! I thought it 
 would take me years and years." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I care." Then she gently drew away 
 from him. "But it is no use. I can t take it now 
 don t you see?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Think of Ruth. She is losing everything, every 
 thing at once. How can I?" 
 
 "But you have given up three years of your life for 
 Ruth." " 
 
 "Think what she has to face, now. How can I 
 take you, too? Besides, I can t leave her. She will 
 have to stay in exile." 
 
 "You can t sacrifice us both to her!" 
 
 "How can I leave the poor little soul alone!" After 
 a long silence he lifted her hands and kissed them. 
 
 "You are right. But I shall find a way for us, now, 
 274 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 if I can. And if not, I will wait as many years as I 
 must. There is one thing you must give me." 
 
 Her hands tightened on his. "What?" 
 
 " To-morrow. The day after I will go for Ruth, 
 but to-morrow must be all mine." She lifted her face 
 impetuously to his. 
 
 "All yours every moment yours!" 
 
 Several candles were flaring. Amsden put them all 
 out and piled wood on the fire until the redwood walls 
 were aglow between the fluttering shadows. Then 
 he threw himself on the couch and held out his arm to 
 her. 
 
 "It begins now," he said. She came slowly, as 
 though to prolong happiness. 
 
 275 
 
XX 
 
 THE heavens were good to them, and poured a flood 
 of sunlight into their last day. The woods closed 
 after them in the brightness of the morning, and the 
 sky behind the western peaks was barred with fading 
 scarlet when they came out again. After their supper 
 they sat on the steps in the velvety darkness while the 
 stars blazed out, and the sound of little falling pine- 
 cones seemed loud in the stillness. The hours had 
 brought them heights and depths; now they had fallen 
 back on hope and a vast content in each other. 
 
 "I don t believe you will ever come to hate me," she 
 said thoughtfully. "You see, you are more terrible 
 in wrath than I am!" They laughed at the beloved 
 memory of their battle. "It s the weaker people who 
 hate one, for the hurt to their vanity." 
 
 "Don t think of those things," he urged. "This is 
 our last day." 
 
 "I can t help wondering where Ying is." 
 
 "It doesn t matter. There is nobody but us two in 
 the whole world, and we " He stopped, and they 
 both turned startled eyes towards the trail. They had 
 heard the stage pass below several minutes before, 
 and now someone was evidently mounting, very slowly. 
 
 276 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 Ellen rose and opened the cabin door, letting a stream 
 of light fall on the path as two figures paused on the top. 
 
 "Ruth!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes;" something in Ruth s voice made Amsden 
 spring forward to help her. Then he saw that the 
 other figure was Ying. 
 
 Ruth, blinking in the light, dropped into the nearest 
 chair, and smiled at them remotely. 
 
 "I bling her back," explained Ying. "She bin 
 sick; she be al light now." 
 
 Ruth s eyes closed. "I m all well again, only the 
 trip was hard," she said slowly. "I want to go to 
 bed." 
 
 "The best thing you could do," said Ellen, warmly. 
 "Ying will get some supper for you." 
 
 "And I will be your porter," said Amsden. "No, 
 child, you re not too heavy." He gathered her up 
 and carried her to her room, Ellen following with a 
 candle. 
 
 It was an hour before Ellen came back to him. 
 
 "No; she is all right," she said in answer to his 
 quick look. "She only seems tired she is asleep, 
 already. But something has happened. Do you sup 
 pose she knows the truth? I must see Ying." 
 
 "This is still my day," he reminded her. "You 
 must do what I say." 
 
 " Oh, but you are a tyrant! What are your orders ? " 
 
 "That you say good-night to me and go straight to 
 bed without another word to anyone." 
 
 She lifted her face with tired docility. 
 277 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 " Good-night," she said. 
 
 When Ellen stole to her door the next morning, 
 Ruth was sitting up in bed finishing her breakfast. 
 
 "I am all right," she said cheerfully. "I wanted 
 food so I called Ying. Sit down; I want to tell you 
 everything." 
 
 Ellen put the tray outside, then drew her chair close 
 to the bed. 
 
 "I didn t write because I knew Mr. Amsden would 
 tell you where I had gone," Ruth began, her eyes 
 turned to the window framing the western mountains. 
 " I hadn t slept for nights, so the excitement of getting 
 off was too much for me ; the trip was hard, and some 
 thing I heard from Will upset me. When we got 
 to the O Haras I felt deadly, and then then I had 
 a hemorrhage." 
 
 "Oh, Ruth!" Ellen s hand went out, and Ruth 
 laid hers in it, though her eyes did not leave the window. 
 
 " It was very, very slight. I should not have thought 
 much of it, but Mrs. O Hara called in our doctor, and 
 he told me everything. He thought I knew, at 
 first, and then he had to go on." 
 
 "I ought to have told you I was all wrong. I 
 wanted to spare you, Ruth, but I had no right to." 
 
 Ruth s fingers tightened on hers. "Yes; you ought 
 to have told me. I have thought such cruel things of 
 you, and all the time you were sacrificing everything 
 to me. You have made me feel like dirt." There 
 was a hard brightness in her eyes, though Ellen s were 
 wet. 
 
 278 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 " You know, Ruth, I believe you can get wholly well 
 in time, if you will be patient," she said finally. 
 
 "So the doctor said, and I am going to believe it." 
 Ruth drew her hand away, clasping her fingers behind 
 the soft fluff of her hair. "Ying turned up the next 
 day, and bullied me horribly. He was so funny! He 
 waited till I was strong enough to come back. So he 
 knew, Ellen?" 
 
 "Yes, for I wanted him to be responsible when I was 
 away." 
 
 "He guessed I had gone to the O Haras. Of course 
 I did not go to Del Monte at all. Now for the prac 
 tical side," she added, after a pause. "I must take 
 up my life and run it myself, and you must go back to 
 yours. No wait; let me finish. Someday "her 
 voice faltered, then she went on strongly "some day 
 you will want to marry. I am not going to keep you 
 back from that. I am afraid you will have to support 
 me but I know you won t mind." 
 
 "Mind, dear! But what will you do?" 
 
 " Mrs. O Hara is not very well, and they want her to 
 go to Arizona for the winter. Christine says she will 
 go if I come. It is the best possible place for me, and 
 they are not afraid to take me. Can you afford it?" 
 
 "Of course! But, Ruth, you really want to go?" 
 
 "Want to! Travel and people I can hardly 
 wait." 
 
 "How about Will?" 
 
 "Oh, they won t be married till spring, anyway, 
 and Christine won t mind leaving him now that they 
 
 279 
 
DR. ELLEN 
 
 are engaged," Ruth explained serenely. Ellen did not 
 wholly understand, but dropped the subject. 
 
 "And what will you do next year?" 
 
 Ruth seemed suddenly the older of the two. "We 
 will wait till that comes," she said decidedly. "I may 
 make friends there and stay on indefinitely. I have 
 to run myself." Then she put out both hands with a 
 sudden softening in her eyes. "Not that I don t 
 realize what you have done for me, Ellen! Not that 
 I don t love you!" Ellen clung to her. 
 
 "Oh, Ruth, Ruth!" she sobbed. 
 
 "You are the biggest person in the whole world," 
 Ruth whispered. "I am too little to belong with you 
 but he isn t. Don t let him go." 
 
 A step sounded on the porch below. Ruth smiled. 
 
 " Go down and tell him how noble I am," she com 
 manded. "It won t last I ll be nasty again in a 
 week. But I am rather enjoying my own strength of 
 character just now." 
 
 Ellen looked at her in wonder. The smile was an 
 honest one; her amazing gaiety was in full possession. 
 
 " Give me that green book out of my bag before you 
 go," she said, sitting up with energy. "It s about 
 Arizona." 
 
 THE END 
 
 280 
 
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