CHAPTER VII

A New Vocation

DR. SHAW was not in exactly an amiable frame of mind that morning. To begin with, there was more sickness in the district than he could very well cope with single-handed, while the lack of good nursing for his numerous patients was telling on his temper to quite a serious extent.

He had just come from a house where a patient, recovering from a rather bad bout of the malarial fever, just then so prevalent in the district, had been treated by an over-indulgent mother to roast goose and apple-pie, with, of course, disastrous results.

The fever itself was a puzzle. Some had it very lightly, and soon recovered, being no worse for the attack. Others had it so heavily that it became a life-and-death struggle.

In some instances it seemed epidemic, for whole households would go down with it; but mostly the cases were isolated, and had no connection with each other. As the neighbourhood had always been so healthy, the fever outbreak was all the more puzzling, and the overworked doctor had irritably decided to put it down to the weather, which had been unusually damp and hot through the latter part of the summer.

His practice lay on both sides of the frontier, and having looked after his Canadian patients, he crossed the border, plunging into the wild forest land that stretched for so many miles along the American side of the boundary.

Little oases of civilization were dotted here and there in the timbered wilderness, and it was to one of these lonely clearings that he turned his horse’s head.

“A fine old journey for us both, Dobbin, and only to find a dead woman at the end,” he said, in a grumpy tone, as his horse dropped into a walk to climb the shoulder of a mountain spur.

But Dobbin only shook an impatient head, for the flies were troublesome, and appeared in no way worried about the state of a patient more or less.

Dr. Shaw was always angry when his patients died, and his meek little wife had declared that he was quite dreadful to live with when, the previous week, both of Abe Lorimer’s sick sons had slipped out of life one after the other.

“Whew, but it is hot this morning!” he exclaimed, mopping his face with a big red handkerchief, which would have shocked a city practitioner.

Dobbin’s glossy coat was dripping with perspiration when at length the end of the journey was reached, at the very same gate where Nell’s tired feet had halted on the previous afternoon.

“Why, the blinds are not down!” exclaimed the doctor, in an amazed tone, as he rode in through the gate and saw the two front windows of the house both open. The door was open too—a barrier made of an ironing-board and two chairs serving to keep out pigs, ducks, and similar intruders.

He was so struck by failing to find the signs of sorrow which he had expected, that he sat still in his saddle staring at the house, until Nell, who had heard his approach, came hurrying out to greet him.

The blue merino dress had been laid aside to-day for the sake of coolness, and Nell appeared in a pink cotton skirt with a washed-out holland blouse, which had short sleeves and no collar.

“A woman here!” exclaimed the doctor, staring at Nell as if he had never seen anything like her before. “Pray, where did you spring from?”

“I came yesterday afternoon,” Nell answered, colouring vividly, her eyes dropping before his steady gaze in an embarrassed fashion.

“Well, you came just right. How is Mrs. Munson?” he asked, descending from his horse, which stood with a drooping head.

“You mean the sick woman?” she asked quickly.

“Of course. What! don’t you know her name even?” And he stared at Nell harder than before.

“Mr. Giles only called her ‘poor aunt,’ so I did not know,” Nell said, in apology. “Will you go right in and see her, if you please, sir? and I will look after your horse.”

“How is she?” demanded the doctor.

“I think she is better. She has been asleep ever since about midnight, only rousing up when I’ve given her food.”

A broad smile broke over the doctor’s rugged face, quite transforming it, and he exclaimed, in a delighted tone—

“Well, that is good hearing! If she has slept so long she will pull through now, with care.”

Nell led the horse away to the barn. Giles had gone with his two horses and the wagon to fetch a last load of corn from a distant field; but he had told her before he went where she could find a feed for the doctor’s horse, and when she had done this, she stayed to give the heated animal a rub down, just as she used to do for old Blossom.

When she entered the house, she found that the sick woman was awake, and talking to the doctor in rational though feeble tones.

“So good of you, doctor, to find me such a kind nurse. I must have died last night, if some one had not come to help me. Giles is a dear good fellow, but he is clumsy when it comes to sickness, like most other men.”

Nell walked into the room at this moment, and her dark eyes had a wistful entreaty in them as she looked at the doctor. She was mutely begging that he would not betray her just yet, and everything that was chivalrous under that rugged exterior responded to the appeal.

“I am glad you like the nurse,” he said, with a nod of encouragement to Nell, who stood where the woman on the bed could not see her. “I was very worried myself when I found that Miss Lorimer could not come as she had promised, but Miss—Miss——Let me see, what did you say your name was?” And he jerked his head in Nell’s direction.

“Hamblyn—Eleanor Hamblyn,” she answered, in a low tone.

“Well, Miss Hamblyn has come at the right time to save your life, and if you will pay attention and do as she says, without doubt you will soon be well again,” Dr. Shaw said, talking now in a dictatorial fashion, which meant that he was to be obeyed to the smallest detail.

“If she tells me to lie in bed and not worry, I’ll do that, thankful enough,” Mrs. Munson replied, with a feeble laugh. Then she closed her eyes, and lay as if asleep, while the doctor talked to Nell.

“I shall not come over again for three days; Mrs. Munson won’t need it, and I’m badly wanted in other directions. Are you able to stay on and take care of her until she is better?” he asked, with a sharp look at Nell, whom he had beckoned to follow him to the other room, so that the sick woman might not be disturbed.

“Oh yes; I can stay if you think they won’t mind having me,” she faltered. “But I came without being asked, you know.”

“You came in the very nick of time, too. And as to your staying—well, it is Mrs. Munson and Giles Bailey who are in your debt, not you in theirs. Mrs. Munson will need careful nursing for the next few days, for she is very low down; but with care she’ll do very well. Are you used to sick folks, eh?” And again his sharp glance seemed as if it would read her thoughts.

But Nell looked at him with honest, unembarrassed eyes which disarmed all suspicion.

“Father was sick for a long time before he died; but that was years ago. Since then I’ve only had dogs and horses to nurse when they weren’t well, for nothing ever ailed granfer.”

“Except in temper, I suppose. I know the sort,” he said, with a grim laugh at his own joke; then he asked quickly, “Is your mother dead too?”

“Yes. She died when I was a little girl,” Nell replied. Then she asked, after a moment of hesitation, “Will you please tell me about the other girl—Miss Lorimer, I mean—and why she did not come?”

“She ought to have come, or let me know that she couldn’t do as she had promised,” the doctor said, with a frown. “But, seeing what trouble they are in, it is not wonderful she lost her head and forgot. She is Gertrude Lorimer, the eldest of Abe Lorimer’s children. Two of her brothers, bright promising boys, were buried last Sunday. I had to go to Lorimer’s Clearing the day before yesterday, and I asked Gertrude if she could come and take care of Mrs. Munson for a few days, and she promised that she would come over yesterday morning, so I rested easy in my mind about my patient. But, to my dismay, when I got to Lorimer’s Clearing this morning, I found that Mrs. Lorimer had been taken ill yesterday, and was in bed, and that Gertrude had simply forgotten all about her promise to come here.”

“Poor girl!” murmured Nell, sympathetically.

The doctor frowned, shook his head, but finally relented enough to admit that Gertrude was deserving of some little pity, even although she had forgotten her promise.

“I will admit that I should not have found it easy to forgive her, if Mrs. Munson had died from want of nursing. On the other hand, if she had sent me word, I don’t know where I could have found a woman who could be spared to come here for the work.”

“You ought to be grateful to her for not letting you know then, because now you have not had to worry about it so long,” Nell said, smiling, as she prepared a hasty meal for the doctor.

But he was not disposed to admit so much, and shook his head a great deal while he ate his lunch. He talked to Nell in a cheerful, friendly fashion, but asked her no more questions about herself, rightly divining that there was trouble behind, of which she did not find it easy to speak. He was fearful, too, of scaring her away from a place where she was so badly needed, so he took pains to reassure her.

When he was ready to go, she brought Dobbin from the barn for him; then, as he was mounting, she asked, with wistful inquiry in her tone—

“Can you tell me, please, how far it is from here to the Canadian border?”

He looked down at her with a friendly smile. “Nine or ten miles. Why do you want to know?”

“I am going there when Mrs. Munson has done with me,” she answered quietly.

“Going there? Where? It is a rather large order, don’t you know, to say you are going to Canada, because, you see, it is so big.”

“I don’t know where, but I shall be sure to find work, shan’t I? Granfer said there was work for everyone in Canada,” she said, a little anxiously.

“Humph! well, I suppose there is, only the trouble is that people won’t always do it. However, I don’t fancy there will be much trouble in your case, either in the getting or the doing, when you come over the border; and if you can’t get work, I will ask Mrs. Shaw to find you some if you come to Nine Springs.”

“Nine Springs? What a pretty name! Is that where you live? If I can’t get work, I will come, but I shan’t trouble you if I can help it,” Nell said, while a bright flush of excitement kept coming and going in her cheeks because of the kindness which was being shown to her by this stranger.

“What sort of work can you do—I mean what sort do you like best?” the doctor asked.

Nell’s brow clouded. “Oh, I like everything; but I don’t know how to do any except rough work, what everyone can do, I mean.”

“If you like everything, and are willing to work, you won’t be long in finding your vocation, I fancy. Meanwhile take care of Mrs. Munson, and in three days I will come again,” he said, with a kindly nod. Then he rode through the gate which Nell opened for him, and he was soon out of sight round the bend in the trail.

Nell walked back to the house in a thoughtful mood; her fancy was busy with that other girl who had promised to come, but had forgotten through stress of other things.

“Suppose she had come, what should I have done?” she murmured with a sudden catch of her breath, for her plight had been a very desperate one; then, because she was by nature unselfish, she quickly thought of the other side of the question, “What would Mrs. Munson have done if no one had come?”

As she paused on the threshold, looking round at the glory of the outdoor world before entering the house, some words of her dead father, spoken in the last days of his life, came into her mind.

“We are all a part of God’s great plan, and there is a niche for every one of us to fill, so let us see that neither by discontent nor fear we spoil the Creator’s purpose concerning us.”