"She's fast asleep," said he, "and the old woman says she'll
call me if I'm needed in the night, and you'll have to jump up
sharp and overhaul that medicine-case if that happens."
The next morning, and very early in the morning, I was awaked
by Uncle Beamish, who stood at my side.
"Look here," said he, "I've been outside. It's stopped snowin'
and it's clearin' off. I've been to the barn and I've fed the
horse, and I tell you what I'm in favor of doin'. There's nobody
up yit, and I don't want to stay here and make no explanations to
that old woman. I don't fancy gittin' into rows on Christmas
mornin'. We've done all the good we can here, and the best thing
we can do now is to git away before anybody is up, and leave a
note sayin' that we've got to go on without losin' time, and that
we will send another doctor as soon as possible. My sister's
doctor don't live fur away from her, and I know she will be
willin' to send for him. Then our duty will be done, and what
the old woman thinks of us won't make no, difference to nobody."
"That plan suits me," said I, rising. "I don't want to stay
here, and as I am not to be allowed to see the patient, there is
no reason why I should stay. What we have done will more than
pay for our supper and lodgings, so that our consciences are
clear."
"But you must write a note," said Uncle Beamish. "Got any
paper?"
I tore a leaf from my note-book, and went to the window,
where it was barely light enough for me to see how to write.
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