"Mother lonely!" he said. "She didn't tell me that."

"Roger is wild to stay," went on Madge, looking away--"but I--oh--I fear
it is only their wonderful kindness. Still there's the Doctor's
rheumatism--and he does need some one to keep his books."

"Rheumatism!" said Ralph sharply.

"Yes," nodded Madge in surprise--"didn't you know. It's been pretty bad
this winter. He's been thinking some of breaking in young Doctor Price
to take part of his practise now and perhaps all of it later."

"Price!" broke out Ralph indignantly. "Oh--that's absurd! Price couldn't
possibly swing Dad's work. He's not clever enough."

"He's the only one there is," said Madge and Ralph fell silent.

All about them lay a glittering moonlit country of peaceful, firelit
homes and snowy hills--of long quiet roads and shadowy trees and
presently Ralph spoke again.

"You like all this," he said abruptly, "the quiet--the country--and all
of it?"

Sister Madge's black eyes glowed.

"After all," she said, "is it not the only way to live? This scent of
the pine, the long white road, the wild-fire of the winter sunset and
the wind and the hills--are they not God-made messages of mystery to
man? Life among man-made things--like your cities--seems somehow to