"Good-morning, Vesta," shouted the doctor, cheerily. "You came out to
shoot me, because you thought I was coming to carry off Melody, eh?
You needn't say no, for I know your musket-shot expression. Dr.
Anthony, let me present you to Miss Vesta Dale,--a woman who has never
had the grace to have a day's sickness since I have known her, and
that's forty years at least."
"Miss Dale is a fortunate woman," said Dr. Anthony, smiling. "Have you
many such constitutions in your practice, Brown?"
"I am fool enough to wish I had," growled Dr Brown. "That woman, sir,
is enough to ruin any practice, with her pernicious example of
disgusting health. How is Rejoice this morning, Vesta? Does she want
to see me?"
Miss Vesta thought not, to-day; then followed questions and answers,
searching on one side, careful and exact on the other; and then--
"I should like it if you could spare Melody for half an hour this
morning," said the doctor. "I want her to go down to Phoebe Jackson's
to see little Ned."
"Oh, what is the matter with Ned?" cried Melody, with a quick look of
alarm.
"Tomfoolery is the principal matter with him, my dear," said Dr.
Brown, grimly. "His eyes have been troubling him, you know, ever since
he had the measles in the winter.
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