Lucas's countenance was a wonderful lobster-like red, and he was so bashful that his eyes fairly watered.

"'Twouldn't be no trouble, Miss 'Phemie," he told her. "'Twould be a pleasure--it re'lly would."

"But what would folks say?" gasped 'Phemie, her eyes dancing. "What would your sister and mother say?"

"They needn't know a thing about it," declared Lucas, eagerly. "I--I could slip out o' my winder an' down the shed ruff, an' sneak up here with my shot-gun."

"Why, Mr. Pritchett! I believe you are in the habit of doing such things.

I am afraid you get out that way often, and the family knows nothing about it."

"Naw, I don't--only circus days, an' w'en the Wild West show comes, an'--an' Fourth of July mornin's. But don't you tell; will yer?"

"Cross my heart!" promised 'Phemie, giggling. "But suppose you should shoot somebody around here with that gun?"

"Sarve 'em aout jest right!" declared the young farmer, boldly. "B'sides, I'd only load it with rock-salt. 'Twould pepper 'em some."

"Salt and pepper 'em, Lucas," giggled the girl. "And season 'em right, I expect, for breaking our rest."

"I'll do it!" declared Lucas.

"Don't you dare!" threatened 'Phemie.

"Why--why----"

Lucas was swamped in his own confusion again.

"Not unless I tell you you may," said 'Phemie, smiling on him dazzlingly once more.

"Wa-al."

"Wait and see if we are disturbed again," spoke the girl, more kindly.

"I really am obliged to you, Lucas; but I couldn't hear of your watching under our windows these cold nights--and, of course, it wouldn't be proper for us to let you stay in the house."

"Wa-al," agreed the disappointed youth. "But if ye need me, ye'll let me know?"

"Sure pop!" she told him, and was only sorry when he was gone that she could not tell Lyddy all about it, and give her older sister "an imitation" of Lucas as a cavalier.

The girls wrote the letter to Aunt Jane that evening and the next morning they watched for the rural mail-carrier, who came along the highroad, past the end of their lane, before noon.

He brought a letter from Aunt Jane for Lyddy, and he was ready to stop and gossip with the girls who had so recently come to Hillcrest Farm.

"I'm glad to see some life about the old doctor's house again," declared the man. "I can remember Dr. Polly--everybody called him that--right well. He was a queer customer some ways--brusk, and sort of rough. But he was a good deal like a chestnut burr. His outside was his worst side.

He didn't have no soothing bedside mannerisms; but if a feller was real _sick_, it was a new lease of life to jest have the old doctor come inter the room!"

It made the girls happy and proud to have people speak this way of their grandfather.

"He warn't a man who didn't make enemies," ruminated the mail-carrier.

"He was too strong a man not to be well hated in certain quarters. He warn't p.u.s.s.y-footed. What he meant he said out square and straight, an'

when he put his foot down he put it down emphatic. Yes, sir!

"But he had a sight more friends than enemies when he died. And lots o'

folks that thought they hated Dr. Polly could look back--when he was dead and gone--an' see how he'd done 'em many a kind turn unbeknownst to 'em at the time.

"Why," rambled on the mail-carrier, "I was talkin' to Jud Spink in Birch's store only las' night. Jud ain't been 'round here for some time before, an' suthin' started talk about the old doctor. Jud, of course, sailed inter him."

"Why?" asked 'Phemie, trying to appear interested, while Lyddy swiftly read her letter.

"Oh, I reckon you two gals--bein' only granddaughters of the old doctor--never heard much about Jud Spink--Lemuel Judson Spink he calls hisself now, an' puts a 'professor' in front of his name, too."

"Is he a professor?" asked 'Phemie.

"I dunno. He's been a good many things. Injun doctor--actor--medicine show fakir--patent medicine pedlar; and now he owns 'Diamond Grits'--the greatest food on airth, _he_ claims, an' I tell him it's great all right, for man _an'_ beast!" and the mail-carrier went off into a spasm of laughter over his own joke.

"Diamond Grits is a breakfast food," chuckled 'Phemie. "Do you s'pose horses would eat it, too?"

"Mine will," said the mail-carrier. "Jud sent me a case of Grits and I fed most of it to this critter. Sa.s.sige an' buckwheats satisfy me better of a mornin', an' I dunno as this hoss has re'lly been in as good shape since I give it the Grits.

"Wa-al, Jud's as rich as cream naow; but the old doctor took him as a boy out o' the poorhouse."

"And yet you say he talks against grandfather?" asked 'Phemie, rather curious.

"Ain't it just like folks?" pursued the man, shaking his head. "Yes, sir!

Dr. Polly took Jud Spink inter his fam'bly and might have made suthin' of him; but Jud ran away with a medicine show----"

"He's made a rich man of himself, you say?" questioned 'Phemie.

"Ya-as," admitted the mail-carrier. "But everybody respected the old doctor, an' n.o.body respects Jud Spink--they respect his money.

"Las' night Jud says the old doctor was as close as a clam with the lockjaw, an' never let go of a dollar till the eagle screamed for marcy.

But he done a sight more good than folks knowed about--till after he died. An' d'ye know the most important clause in his will, Miss?"

"In grandfather's will?"

"Ya-as. It was the instructions to his execketer to give a receipted bill to ev'ry patient of his that applied for the same, free gratis for nothin'! An' lemme tell ye," added the mail-carrier, preparing to drive on again, "there was some folks on both sides o' this ridge that was down on the old doctor's books for sums they could never hope to pay."

As he started off 'Phemie called after him, brightly:

"I'm obliged to you for telling me what you have about grandfather."

"Beginning to get interested in neighborhood gossip already; are you?"

said her sister, when 'Phemie joined her, and they walked back up the lane.

"I believe I am getting interested in everything folks can tell us about grandfather. In his way, Lyddy, Dr. Apollo Phelps must have been a great man."

"I--I always had an idea he was a little _queer_," confessed Lyddy. "His name you know, and all----"

"But people really _loved_ him. He helped them. He gave unostentatiously, and he must have been a very, very good doctor. I--I wonder what Aunt Jane meant by saying that grandfather used to say there were curative waters on the farm?"

"I haven't the least idea," replied Lyddy. "Sulphur spring, perhaps--nasty stuff to drink. But listen here to what Aunt Jane says about father."