There was a mystery connected with Richardson's lameness that the village gossips could never fathom. He was too important a personage to escape comment. It was well known that he was so lame as to be compelled to ride to school on three consecutive days; and yet Sam Waterhouse declared he met him and talked with him at the old graveyard at three o'clock on the morning he put his foot in the trap, and that he did not appear to be much lame. Sam, however, was in the habit of drinking too freely of New England rum, and always took a jug with him when on the road; thus the majority, after a while, concluded Waterhouse had made too free with the contents of his jug, and imagined it all.

Rich, after this, assisted in several important operations in which the two doctors were engaged. He likewise, when he could do it and not interfere with his school, opened sores, administered medicines, let blood, and dressed wounds, at the request of Dr. Ryan, who lost no opportunity of bringing[Pg 232] him forward, and became more and more attached to him every day.

When bones were to be set, Dr. Ryan, if the fracture was in any respect a bad one, sent for Dr. Slaughter; but, as his own practice was large, often relinquished the subsequent care of the fracture to Rich, and paid him for it. In this manner, and by rigid economy, he was enabled to lay by a considerable sum, besides purchasing some necessary instruments and books.

The good doctor was well aware that whenever he left the care of a patient to Rich, whether it was a case of disease, or a wound, or broken bone, that he practised a treatment quite different from the established method; but as the patients generally did well, he made no troublesome inquiries, and even turned a deaf ear to the hints of Dr. Slaughter in respect to innovations upon the good old substantial practice.

It was very hot weather, the middle of August, and a lad of seventeen received a terrible cut in his thigh, by coming too near his father while he was mowing oats. Dr. Ryan was away from home, attending the funeral of a near relative in a distant town; the family instantly sent for Rich. The wound, fortunately, was worse in appearance than reality, as no artery was severed, though the gash presented a most formidable appearance to inexperienced persons, and the parents were very much alarmed.

[Pg 233]

Rich quieted their fears, stopped the bleeding, cleansed, bound up, and dressed the wound. It was several days before the doctor returned. The first time he rode out to visit his patients, he encountered on the road an old acquaintance, but by no means a favorite of his, Miss Nelly Buckminster. Miss Nelly was a spinster, lived by herself in a small house left to her by her parents, and gained a livelihood by taking in spinning, weaving, and plain sewing; occasionally kept house for anybody who could endure her tongue, for she was an inveterate talker, and held very decided opinions upon all subjects. In other respects she was an excellent housekeeper, neat, industrious, economical, and an excellent cook.

Miss Nelly was very religious, exceedingly so; but her piety was of the vociferous, rather than of the introspective cast. She was the recipient of many presents. Some gave her because they thought her a very good though rather peculiar woman, some because they were afraid of her tongue, others because they knew she would tell of it from Dan to Beersheba. We think it must have been the reasons assigned that influenced so many persons to make presents to Nelly, because there was not the least satisfaction to be derived from the act itself, as Nelly, in expressing her gratitude and sense of obligation—which she never failed to do—always ignored second causes, and paid her respects to the Most High.

[Pg 234]

This might have been—undoubtedly was—good theology, but it was of the nutmeg-grater variety, and altogether corrosive in both quality and operation; for when persons bestow gifts, influenced by the purest motives, some manifestation of gratitude is pleasant, and generally expected; but no person ever received any from Nelly; her gratitude was ever directed over the heads of the instrumentalities to the efficient cause, which was not merely sound doctrine and conservative, but did away at once with all troublesome sense of obligation or return in kind.

Squire Dresser once sent her by the hand of his son a bushel of Indian meal. Henry knocked at the door, and gave her the bag of meal, saying,—

"Miss Buckminster, here is a bushel of flour my father sent you, and he'll call some time when he's going by to mill, and get the bag."

"No thanks to Squire Dresser; thanks to the Lord; 'twas the Lord sent it, and not the squire."

Henry had made the interview as brief as possible, in order to escape an exhortation on the subject of personal piety, that Nelly was in the habit of administering to him whenever he came to her house of an errand, and which altogether failed of producing any good impression, because he did not like her, and by reason of the snappish way in which she flung it at him.

Finding he had in his haste made a mistake, he went back and said,—

[Pg 235]

"Miss Buckminster, I made a mistake. 'Tis Indian and not wheat meal that father sent you."

"Indian! I should like to know what he sent Indian for!"

This curt reply made a good deal of sport among the neighbors.

"I don't believe the Lord will send her anything again very soon," said Squire Dresser.

"The old proverb is, 'Never look a gift horse in the mouth;' but she presumes to find fault with the gifts of the Lord, tells what he should send and what not."

Dr. Ryan, who dearly loved good living, tempted by her unrivalled skill as a cook, and confiding in his good temper and the soundness of his nerves, once employed Nelly to keep house for him. She was possessed of a very vivid imagination, and in the habit of cautioning people against doing things they never entertained the thought of doing.

It was cold, sharp weather, and the doctor had a small dog that was very fond of stretching out on the hearth before the andirons. One day the doctor came in, chilled from a long ride and stood warming himself; the dog lay stretched at full length between him and the fire.

"There! you'll kick that dog into the fire—I know you will!" screamed Nelly.

"So I will, then," said the doctor, and kicked him under the forestick.

[Pg 236]

Nelly never cautioned the doctor any more.

In some respects it was difficult to reconcile her professions with her practice: for instance, she always said in the prayer-meeting that it was a great cross for her to rise and speak; whereas it was the settled opinion of all who knew her that it would be a much greater cross for her to hold her tongue, and Captain Motley said,—

"If you nailed her down to the bench with ten-penny nails, she'd rise and take it up with her."

She always disliked people whom everybody else loved and respected, called it man-worship, therefore didn't like Rich, couldn't bear him. Dr. Ryan said, it was a good thing for Richardson; he ought to have one ill-wisher, to take the curse off.

"Doctor, good mornin'."

"Good morning, Nelly."

"Doctor, you never should ought to step your two feet out of this village. Dreadful works, dreadful, since you've been away. Doctor, what do you think this wicked world is comin' to? Errors in doctrine, new lights rampaging round, turnin' things upside down; errors in doctorin,' as though folks couldn't die fast enough themselves. Destruction to soul and body both."

"I expect it is coming to an end, Nelly."

"When, doctor? Any ways soon? 'Cause we ought to be on our watch guards, a girdin' up our loins and preparin'."

[Pg 237]

"O, no; I guess 'twill outlast you and me, and a good many other people. But what is the trouble now?"

"Trouble enough. Do you know, David Ryan, what a viper yer a nourishin' in yer buzom? Do you know it, David Ryan? 'Cause if you don't, it's high time you did. Do you know what that young snipper-snapper of a Richardson is, that's allowed for to lead the singin' in the Lord's house? The gals is all taken with his good looks, and the men with his 'ily tongue. But I tell you he's a—"

Here Nelly thrust her tongue into her cheek, and............