I have seen him tried."
At this moment a window-sash in the second story of the house
was raised, and there, not thirty feet from us, stood an elderly
female, wrapped in a gray shawl, with piercing eyes shining
through great spectacles.
"You seem to be stuck," said she, sarcastically. "You are
worse stuck than the fork was in my kitchen table."
We made no answer. I do not know how Miss Burroughs looked
or felt, or what was the appearance of Uncle Beamish, but I know
I must have been very red in the face. I gave the horse a
powerful crack and shouted to him to go on. There was no need
for low speaking now.
"You needn't be cruel to dumb animals," said the old lady,
"and you can't budge him. He never did like snow,
especially in going away from home. You cut a powerful queer
figure, young man, with that horse-blanket around you. You don't
look much like a practising physician."
"Miss Burroughs," I exclaimed, "please take that pin out of
this blanket. If I can get at his head I know I can pull him
around and make him go."
But she did not seem to hear me. "Aunty," she cried, "it's a
shame to stand there and make fun of us. We have got a perfect
right to go away if we want to, and we ought not to be laughed
at."
The old lady paid no attention to this remark.
"And there's that false doctor," she said. "I wonder how he
feels just now."
"False doctor!" exclaimed Miss Burroughs. "I don't understand.
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