"Is it the
ten-forty he's comin' on?"
The Doctor tried to appear unconcerned. He looked at his watch with
elaborately assumed carelessness as he answered: "I believe it's
ten-forty; and how are you feeling this morning, Denny?"
The lad lifted his helpless left arm across his lap. "Oh I'm fine, thank
you kindly, Doctor. Mother's fine too, and my garden's doing pretty good
for me." He glanced about. "The early things are all gone, of course, but
the others are doing well. Oh, we'll get along; I told mother this
morning the Blessed Virgin hadn't forgotten us yet. I'll bet them
potatoes grew an inch some nights this summer. And look what a day it is
for the fair, and the preacher a comin' too."
The Doctor looked at his watch again, and Denny continued: "We're all so
pleased at his comin'. People haven't talked of anything else for a
month now, that and the fair of course. Things in this town will liven
up now, sure. Seems to me I can feel it--yes sir, I can. Something's
goin' to happen, sure."
"Humph," grunted the Doctor, "I rather feel that way myself." Then, "I
expect you two will be great friends, Denny."
The poor little fellow nearly twisted himself off the rock. "Oh Doctor,
really why I--the minister'll have no time for the likes of me. And is
he really goin' to live at Mrs. Morgan's there?" He nodded his head
toward the house next to his garden.
"That's his room," the other answered, pointing to the corner window.
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