'Why, Mr. Thornton you're cutting me very coolly, I must say. And

how is Mrs. Thornton? Brave weather this! We doctors don't like

it, I can tell you!' 'I beg your pardon, Dr. Donaldson. I really didn't see you. My

mother's quite well, thank you. It is a fine day, and good for

the harvest, I hope. If the wheat is well got in, we shall have a

brisk trade next year, whatever you doctors have.' '

Ay, ay. Each man for himself Your bad weather, and your bad

times, are my good ones. When trade is bad, there's more

undermining of health, and preparation for death, going on among

you Milton men than you're aware of.'

'Not with me, Doctor. I'm made of iron. The news of the worst bad

debt I ever had, never made my pulse vary. This strike, which

affects me more than any one else in Milton,--more than

Hamper,--never comes near my appetite. You must go elsewhere for

a patient, Doctor.' 'By the way, you've recommended me a good patient, poor lady! Not

to go on talking in this heartless way, I seriously believe that

Mrs. Hale--that lady in Crampton, you know--hasn't many weeks to

live. I never had any hope of cure, as I think I told you; but

I've been seeing her to-day, and I think very badly of her.' Mr. Thornton was silent. The vaunted steadiness of pulse failed

him for an instant.

'Can I do anything, Doctor?' he asked, in an altered voice. 'You

know--you would see, that money is not very plentiful; are there

any comforts or dainties she ought to have?' 'No,' replied the Doctor, shaking his head. 'She craves for

fruit,--she has a constant fever on her; but jargonelle pears

will do as well as anything, and there are quantities of them in

the market.' 'You will tell me, if there is anything I can do, I'm sure,

replied Mr. Thornton. 'I rely upon you.' 'Oh! never fear! I'll not spare your purse,--I know it's deep

enough. I wish you'd give me carte-blanche for all my patients,

and all their wants.' But Mr. Thornton had no general benevolence,--no universal

philanthropy; few even would have given him credit for strong

affections. But he went straight to the first fruit-shop in

Milton, and chose out the bunch of purple grapes with the most

delicate bloom upon them,--the richest-coloured peaches,--the

freshest vine-leaves. They were packed into a basket, and the

shopman awaited the answer to his inquiry, 'Where shall we send

them to, sir?' There was no reply. 'To Marlborough Mills, I suppose, sir?' 'No!' Mr. Thornton said. 'Give the basket to me,--I'll take it.' It took up both his hands to carry it; and he had to pass through

the busiest part of the town for feminine shopping. Many a young

lady of his acquaintance turned to look after him, and thought it

strange to see him occupied just like a porter or an errand-boy.




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