The Allen House | Page 2

new direction; when,
with my second self leaning on an arm, and my little Aggy holding
tightly by my hand, I moved on to the dining-room, all the disagreeable
things of the day forgotten.
"Has any one been here?" I asked, as I handed my cup for a third
replenishing. Professional habit was too strong--the query would
intrude itself.
"Mrs. Wallingford called to see you."
"Ah! Is anybody sick?"
"I believe so--but she evaded my inquiry, and said that she wished to
speak a word with the Doctor."
"She don't want me to call over to-night, I hope. Did she leave any
word?"
"No. She looked troubled in her mind, I thought."

"No other call?"
"Yes. Mary Jones sent word that something was the matter with the
baby. It cried nearly all last night, her little boy said, and to-day has
fever, and lies in a kind of stupor."
"That case must be seen to," I remarked, speaking to myself.
"You might let it go over until morning," suggested my wife. "At any
rate, I would let them send again before going. The child may be better
by this time."
"A call in time may save life here, Constance," I made answer; the
sense of duty growing stronger as the inner and outer man felt the
renovating effects of a good supper, and the brightness and warmth of
my pleasant home. "And life, you know, is a precious thing--even a
baby's life."
And I turned a meaning glance upon the calm, sweet face of our latest
born, as she lay sleeping in her cradle. That was enough. I saw the tears
spring instantly to the eyes of my wife.
"I have not a word to say. God forbid, that in the weakness of love and
care for you, dear husband, I should draw you aside from duty.
Yes--yes! The life of a baby is indeed a precious thing!"
And bending over the cradle, she left a kiss on the lips, and a tear on
the pure brow of our darling. Now was I doubly strengthened for the
night. There arose at this instant a wild storm-wail, that shrieked for a
brief time amid the chimneys, and around the eaves of our dwelling,
and then went moaning away, sadly, dying at last in the far distance.
The rain beat heavily against the windows. But I did not waver, nor
seek for reasons to warrant a neglect of duty. "I must see Mary Jones's
baby, and that to-night." I said this to myself, resolutely, by way of
answer to the intimidating storm.
Mrs. Jones was a widow, and poor. She lived full a quarter of a mile
away. So in deciding to make the visit that night, I hardly think a very

strong element of self-interest was included in the motives that
governed me. But that is irrelevant.
"As there is no prospect of an abatement in the storm," said I, after
returning to our cosy little sitting-room, "it may be as well for me to see
the baby at once. The visit will be over, so far as I am concerned, and
precious time may be gained for the patient."
"I will tell Joseph to bring around the horse," said my wife.
"No--I will walk. Poor beast! He has done enough for one day, and
shall not be taken out again."
"Horse-flesh is not so precious as man-flesh," Constance smiled
entreatingly, as she laid her hand upon my shoulder. "Let Tom be
harnessed up; it won't hurt him."
"The merciful man is merciful to his beast," I made answer. "If
horse-flesh is cheaper than man-flesh, like most cheap articles, it is less
enduring. Tom must rest, if his master cannot."
"The decision is final, I suppose."
"I must say yes."
"I hardly think your great coat is dry yet," said my wife. "I had it hung
before the kitchen fire. Let me see."
"You must wait for ten, or fifteen minutes longer," she remarked, on
returning from the kitchen. "One sleeve was completely wetted through,
and I have turned it in order to get the lining dry."
I sat down and took Agnes on my lap, and was just getting into a
pleasant talk with her, when the door-bell rung. A shadow fell across
my wife's face.
"People are thoughtless of Doctors," she remarked, a little fretfully,
"and often choose the worst weather and the most untimely seasons to
send for them."

I did not answer, but listened as the boy went to the door. Some one
was admitted, and shown into the office.
"Who is it?" I enquired, as Joseph came to the sitting-room.
"Mrs. Wallingford."
My wife and I exchanged glances. She looking grave and curious; but
no remark was made.
"Good-evening, Mrs. Wallingford," said I, on entering my office. "This
is