A Daughter of the Land

"I love you advice; it's so Batesy," he said. "I have money saved

for both contingencies you mention, but I'll tell you what I

think, and about this I'm the one who knows. I've told you

repeatedly winter is my best time. I've lost the winter trying to

help you out; and I've little chance until winter comes again. It

takes cold weather to make folks feel what ails their muscles, and

my treatment is mostly muscular. To save so we can get a real

start, wouldn't it be a good idea for you to put part of your

things in my room, take what you must have, and fix Mother's

bedroom for you, let her move her bed into her living room, and

spare me all you can of your things to fix up your room for my

office this summer. That would save rent, it's only a few steps

from downtown, and when I wasn't busy with patients, I could be

handy to the garden, and to help you."

"If your mother is willing, I'll do my share," said Kate,

"although the room's cramped, and where I'll put the small party

when he comes I don't know, but I'll manage someway. The big

objection to it is that it will make it look to people as if it

were a makeshift, instead of starting a real business."

"Real," was the wrong word. It was the red rag that started

George raging, until to save her self-respect, Kate left the room.

Later in the day he announced that his mother was willing, she

would clean the living room and move in that day. How Kate hated

the tiny room with its one exterior wall, only one small window,

its scratched woodwork, and soiled paper, she could not say. She

felt physically ill when she thought of it, and when she thought

of the heat of the coming summer, she wondered what she would do;

but all she could do was to acquiesce. She made a trip downtown

and bought a quart of white paint and a few rolls of dainty, fresh

paper. She made herself ill with turpentine odours in giving the

woodwork three coats, and fell from a table almost killing herself

while papering the ceiling. There was no room for her trunk; the

closet would not hold half her clothes; her only easy chair was

crowded out; she was sheared of personal comfort at a clip, just

at a time when every comfort should have been hers. George

ordered an operating table, on which to massage his patients, a

few other necessities, and in high spirits, went about fixing up

his office and finishing his school. He spent hours in the

woodshed with the remainder of Kate's white paint, making a sign

to hang in front of the house.