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 But even here he found a busy stir. Squire Condit, whip in hand, was admonishing Amos who, seated upon an upturned keg, was mending a bit of harness which had come apart. The plow horses, waiting patiently outside, betokened an emergency.

"I know not why ye did not do as I bid ye, Amos," the Squire was saying in an exasperated tone. Tis ever thus—rainy days, the time for mending harness, passed I don't know how and now, on this morn when we should be in the fields, we must stop to mend"

His voice died away as he stopped to nod cheerfully at Doctor Carter.

"Well, well, Amos, I shall proceed out to the north field; see ye follow with the horses as soon as ever ye can. Make yourself at home, good sir—'tis clean and sweet and—quiet—up in yon haymow now." And the Squire, with a shrewd, understanding glance at the distant figure of his wife and another at their guest, departed.

"Why, 'tis the very place!" observed Doctor Carter delightedly. "I wonder I did not think o't before!"

He paused, one foot upon the ladder attached to the wall, when Amos's rumbling voice arrested him.

"That varlet Sturgins be up there," mumbled Amos. "But he be asleep, so 'twill not bother ye, sir, except he snores."

"Aye?" The good doctor's face fell. "Even here be someone?" But soon his natural kindliness came to the fore. "Eh, well, 'twill not disturb me 'less he snores too loudly, when will I give him a poke—so!" And Doctor Carter's boot toe gave an eloquent flirt