accepted the office, and then awaited rather nervously his initiation.
He was not easy in the society of ladies, unless, indeed, the lady
stood in need of his professional services, when he lost sight of
_her_ at once, and thought only of her disease. His patient once
well, however, he became nervously shy and embarrassed, retreating as
soon as possible from her presence to the covert of his friendly
office, where, with his boots upon the table and his head thrown back
in a most comfortable position, he sat one April morning, in happy
oblivion of the bevy of girls who must, of course, ere long-invade his
sanctum.

"Something for you, sir. The lady will wait for an answer," said his
"chore boy," passing to his master a little three-cornered note, and
nodding toward the street.

Following the direction indicated, the doctor saw, drawn up near his
door, an old-fashioned one-horse wagon, such as is still occasionally
seen in New England. A square boxed, dark green wagon, drawn by a
sorrel horse, sometimes called by the genuine Yankee "yellow," and
driven by a white-haired man, whose silvery locks, falling around his
wrinkled face, gave to him a pleasing, patriarchal appearance, which
interested the doctor far more than did the flutter of the blue ribbon
beside him, even though the bonnet that ribbon tied shaded the face of
a young girl. The note was from her, and, tearing it open, the doctor
read, in the prettiest of all pretty, girlish handwriting:

"Dr. Holbrook."

Here it was plainly visible that a "D" had been written as if she
would have said "Dear." Then, evidently changing her mind, she had