because I was enabled to attend patients at
a much greater distance than when my visits
were paid by the help of a mountain pony: my
first purchase on setting up in country practice.
How pleased was I, more for Jane’s sake than
my own, when I first became the proprietor of
a genuine equipage! It was an unhealthy
autumn, too: fever was uncommonly rife: my
services were in constant request: and I wrote
frequently to my patient fond correspondent at
Calcutta Lodge, Highgate, in a strain of hope
and confidence. I was making money rapidly.
In a couple of years more, if matters went on
well, I might return with dollars enough to buy
a respectable London practice—a practice that
would do to marry upon.

On a still sultry afternoon of that short
autumnal period which Americans call the “Indian
summer,” my negro lad came into the garden to
summon me. He told me that Mr. Japhet Clay,
a wealthy Quaker farmer, residing about five
miles off, wished to see me.

“Very well, Sam,” said I, “tell Mr. Clay I
am coming.”

I had no choice but to re-enter the house,
where I found the tall old Quaker, formally clad
in drab cloth, as usual, but with a look of
anxiety perturbing his usually calm face.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Clay?” said I,
shaking hands with him.

“There is one sojourning beneath our roof,”
he said, “who is not only ill at ease, but in
some danger.”

“Fever?” I exclaimed.

The Quaker evaded the question. His
eyebrows twitched nervously; and he replied: “If
thou canst conveniently pay an early visit to our
lone dwelling, called by men the Holt, and wilt
inquire for the Honourable Abiram Green (so
called), my wife and daughters will bring thee to
the sufferer’s presence; and, truly, I trust thy skill
may be profited to his deliverance from calamity.”

So saying, the Quaker prepared to depart.

“I would come up at once,” said I, in some
perplexity, “but my horses are tired with a
long morning’s work. These fever cases don’t
allow of delay. I could borrow Major Blight’s
pony, or ask one of the neighbours for the
loan of a gig, or—stay—if you will give me
a seat in your carryall, Mr. Clay, that will be
best of all.”

The old gentleman hesitated. “Gladly would
I drive thee back with me to my abode, where I
hope thou wilt spend the night, but—but I
have business at the flour-mill, and I must go
to some stores, and the bank—and, in fact,
friend Mylner, would it suit thee to walk on as
far as Buck’s Leap on the road, that I may
there overtake thee?”

I acceded, though I was a little puzzled as to
the reason why.

Taking a few needful drugs and instruments,
which I placed in the leathern hunting-pouch I
wore in my forest rambles, I set off to saunter
to the place where Mr. Clay was to pick me up.
A lonely spot was Buck’s Leap: a place where
the stream bordering the road was suddenly
narrowed between two encroaching boulders of
rock: and where a deer was traditionally
recorded to have made a wonderful spring from
side to side, when chased by hunters in the
early days of the colony. There I sat down on
a flat stone among the bushes, and waited for
the sound of the carryall’s wheels. So deep
was the stillness, that I heard the wheels of Mr.
Clay’s carryall rumbling for a long time before
the trotting mules and unpretentious vehicle
came in sight.

“I fear, friend Mylner, I have tarried long;
thy patience will be exhausted,” said honest
Mr. Clay, as he pulled up.

He was now in a much more equable frame
of mind than an hour before, and we chatted
pleasantly enough as we wound our way through
the woodlands. The Quaker gave me to
understand that the sick visitor was a new
acquaintance.

“It may be a good thing, carnally speaking,
for thee, friend Mylner, to have attended such a
patient,” said he; “these legislators and men
of note at Washington can often give valuable
recommendations. Would thou like to be
physician to a legislation in Europe, friend? Would
thou prefer a good practice in New York or
Boston?”

“Of course I would.”

We were now in sight of the Holt: a neat,
well-built timber house, with very extensive yards
and farm-buildings. Several blacks, whose
careless laughter and display of white teeth
contrasted oddly with the precise bearing and
solemn gravity of their employer—employer, not
owner—came bustling out to meet us, as well
as a troop of yelping dogs. Giving up the mules
to the care of these serving-men, we entered,
and were met almost on the threshold by Mrs.
Clay, who seemed extremely glad to see us.

How was the patient?

“Much the same. Much the same. Not
over strong. The hot fit was not upon him.
Would the doctor go up at once?”

I was ushered into a bedroom: small, but
a model of neatness and comfort; the sun
was sinking, and but little light was admitted
through the jealously closed blinds, so that I
could hardly distinguish the features of the
sufferer. An intelligent handsome face it seemed
to be, though blanched by sickness; but I saw
with surprise that while the eyes were bright
and clear, the hair was quite grey, and imparted
a venerable aspect which would otherwise have
been wanting. The patient was propped up
with pillows; he was evidently quite sensible,
and much better than I had expected to find him.

“This, friend Green, is friend Mylner, the
physician from the old country, of whom my
husband told thee,” said the kind Quaker
matron, smoothing the pillows with a dexterous
hand.

“Ah! Dr. Mylner, it was very kind of you to
come so promptly, valuable as your time is,”
said the Honourable Abiram Green, speaking
rather hoarsely and awkwardly; “I am better
already, thanks to kind nursing.”