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Horne pressed the blade deeply into the tissues, then withdrew it. Looking up into his patient’s face:

“Did you feel it?”

“Just a little, Doctor,” said Mauney, biting his lip.

“Don’t you faint, Bard!”

“I’m not going to.”

“Yes you are!”

“I am not!” insisted Mauney as the color returned to his face.

While the doctor put on a fresh dressing his manner altered. He whistled a snatch of a country dance.

“You look like your mother, boy,” he said more gently. “I looked after your poor mother. You were just a young gaffer then. She was a very fine woman. She was too damned good for your old man. I’ve told Seth that before now.”

“Will this need to be dressed again?” Mauney asked, as they later stood in the waiting room.

“Yes. On Saturday.”

Horne’s attention was drawn to the figure of a woman approaching the office.

“Hello!” he said softly. “Surely Sarah Tenent isn’t sick. I’ll bet she’s peddling bills for the revival services.”

The bell rang.

“All right, come in, Mrs. Tenent.”

“How do you do, doctor?” she said, very deferentially, as she entered.