THE DOCTOR

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. THE OLD STONE MILL

II. THE DAUGHTER OF THE MANSE

III. THE RAISING

IV. THE DANCE

V. THE NEW TEACHER

VI. THE YOUNG DOCTOR

VII. THE GOOD CHEER DEPARTMENT

VIII. BEN'S GANG

IX. LOVE'S TANGLED WAYS

X. FOR A LADY'S HONOUR

XI. IOLA'S CHOICE

XII. HE THAT LOVETH HIS LIFE

XIII. A MAN THAT IS AN HERETIC REJECT

XIV. WHOSOEVER LOOKETH UPON A WOMAN

XV. THE SUPERINTENDENT'S METHODS

XVI. THE CHALLENGE OF DEATH

XVII. THE FIGHT WITH DEATH

XVIII. THE MEDICAL SUPERINTENDENT OF THE CROW'S NEST

XIX. THE LADY OF KUSKINOOK

XX. UNTIL SEVENTY TIMES SEVEN

XXI. TO WHOM HE FORGAVE MOST

XXII. THE HEART'S REST

XXIII. THE LAST CALL

XXIV. FOR LOVE'S SAKE




THE DOCTOR




I

THE OLD STONE MILL


There were two ways by which one could get to the Old Stone Mill. One,
from the sideroad by a lane which, edged with grassy, flower-decked
banks, wound between snake fences, along which straggled irregular
clumps of hazel and blue beech, dogwood and thorn bushes, and beyond
which stretched on one side fields of grain just heading out this bright
June morning, and on the other side a long strip of hay fields of mixed
timothy and red clover, generous of colour and perfume, which ran along
the snake fence till it came to a potato patch which, in turn, led to an
orchard where the lane began to drop down to the Mill valley.

At the crest of the hill travellers with even the merest embryonic
aesthetic taste were forced to pause. For there the valley with its
sweet loveliness lay in full view before them. Far away to the right,
out of an angle in the woods, ran the Mill Creek to fill the pond which
brimmed gleaming to the green bank of the dam. Beyond the pond a sloping
grassy sward showed green under an open beech and maple woods. On the
hither side of the pond an orchard ran down hill to the water's edge,
and at the nearer corner of the dam, among a clump of ancient willows,
stood the Old Stone Mill, with house attached, and across the mill yard
the shed and barn, all neat as a tidy housewife's kitchen. To the left
of the mill, with its green turf-clad dam and placid gleaming pond,
wandered off green fields of many shading colours, through which ran the
Mill Creek, foaming as if enraged that it should have been even for a
brief space paused in its flow to serve another's will. Then, beyond the
many-shaded fields, woods again, spruce and tamarack, where the stream
entered, and maple and beech on the higher levels. That was one way to
the mill, the way the farmers took with their grist or their oats for
old Charley Boyle to grind.