in your boat will do me good, and I need your company.”
“And bring your cures so you’ll have un to take, an’ you needs un,” suggested Thomas solicitously, as Doctor Joe arose and took his adiky from a peg.
“Your company will be the best remedy, Thomas,” remarked Doctor Joe, drawing the adiky over his head. “There are some disorders medicine will not cure—only change and good comradeship, and sweet, sympathetic friendship, such as you are giving me.”
“You’re always welcome at The Jug, whatever!” Thomas assured heartily, though he did not in the least understand the import of what Doctor Joe had said.
But as the weeks passed, and the cold of the long winter settled upon the land, Doctor Joe adapted himself to the life of the Bay, and entered heartily into his business of trapper, and soon it was discovered that he was a jolly neighbor, and the Bay folk as well as Thomas accepted him as one of them, and forgot the mystery, and were ever ready to lend him a hand, and give him hints that helped him vastly in learning his new trade, for he was clumsy enough at setting traps at first.
In return Doctor Joe was always on hand with a well-filled medicine case when he heard that any one was sick, and he displayed wonderful skill. He had supplied himself with medicines, he explained, because they were always handy, where there was no doctor to call. And when Bill Campbell’s boy laid the calf of his leg open with an ax, and Doctor Joe sewed it up, and bound it, as the folk had never seen a wound bound before, it was agreed he was the cleverest man in that line on the whole coast.
Then it was that they had begun to call him “Doctor Joe,” and he had accepted the new name as a compliment, and with rare good nature, and soon he was “Doctor Joe” to every one, and a welcome visitor wherever he went.
II
THE THICKENING MIST
A FORTNIGHT passed, after the evening when Doctor Joe had spoken to Thomas of the mist in Jamie’s eyes, before he appeared again at The Jug. It was early morning, and the family were at breakfast when he breezed in, without knocking—for in that country folk do not knock as they enter, and every one is welcome at all times.
“Well! Well!” he exclaimed. “Just in time, and I’m as hungry as an old grampus. What is it? Fried whitefish! Margaret, you must have expected me and read my mind, for I’d rather have fried whitefish for breakfast, the way you cook them, than anything else I can think of!”
“Then I’m glad I cooked un,” laughed Margaret. “But you likes most anything we ever has.”
“That’s true, because you cook everything so well,” complimented Doctor Joe, seating himself by Jamie. “I’m not much of a cook myself, you know.”
“You’re a rare fine cook, now, I thinks,” broke in David. “I always likes your cookin’ when I eats un.”
“Anybody’s cooking is good to a husky, healthy lad like you,” laughed Doctor Joe.
“We’re wonderful glad t’ see you, Doctor Joe,” said Thomas. “I’ve been wonderin’, now, why you didn’t come over this fortnight. The boys pulled over to Break Cove yesterday lookin’ for you, fearin’ you might be ailin’.”
“And didn’t find me!” exclaimed Doctor Joe, helping himself liberally to fish. “Well, the day after I was here I left for Fort Pelican to meet the mail boat and get some medicines that I thought I might need in the winter from the mail boat doctor, and to mail an important letter. How have you all been?”
“Not so bad—except Jamie,” said Thomas. “His eyes are growin’ mistier.”
“Eh!” ejaculated Doctor Joe, looking down at Jamie. “Mistier, are they? That’s what I’m here about—mostly—to see what we can do about that mist. We’ll have a look at the eyes pretty soon, Jamie.”
“I’m thinkin’ ’tis truly a mist fallin’ thick, and holdin’ thick all the time,” declared Jamie.
“We’ll see about that! We’ll see!” said Doctor Joe.
And after breakfast he again looked carefully into Jamie’s eyes, and again asked Jamie many, many questions, and then walked out with Thomas where they could talk alone.
“And what you think’n now of Jamie’s eyes?” asked Thomas anxiously.
“’Tis a strange disease, and a serious one,” said Doctor Joe. “Inside everybody’s eyes there’s a fluid forms. When the eyes are healthy the fluid keeps working away naturally through small outlets. If the outlets for the fluid get stopped, there’s no way for it to escape, and it fills up inside until it presses on the eyes, and the sight begins to fail, and after a time if the fluid is not let out the eyes go blind. There’s only one way to cure the complaint, and that is by a difficult and delicate operation for the purposes of opening the passages and drawing the fluid out and relieving the pressure.”
“Do you mean—cuttin’ the eyes open?” asked Thomas in dismay.
“Yes,” said Doctor Joe, “and the cutting has to be done just right, or it fails. I once knew a surgeon who sometimes succeeded in performing the operation successfully, but he was in New York—a long, long way from here. The letter I posted the other day in Fort Pelican was for this doctor. I wrote to ask if he is still in New York, and if he is there if he will operate on Jamie’s eye if we take the lad to him.”
“Suppose, now, he’ll do the cuttin’, how can we ever get Jamie to he?” asked Thomas.
“I’ll take him on the mail boat. We can’t get away this fall, though, for it isn’t likely I’ll get an answer before the Christmas mail, after the boat has made her last fall trip. But,” continued Doctor Joe, “I hope Jamie’s eyes will not be too misty by spring. If he loses his sight before spring there’ll be no use operating, for then the sight can’t be brought back.”
“And if—if the doctor cuts un—and he fails—what’ll happen to Jamie then?” asked Thomas fearfully.
“He’ll be blind,” said Doctor Joe. “But if the doctor doesn’t do the cutting Jamie will surely go blind. This is the only chance to save his sight.”
“An’ supposin’,” asked Thomas, “you gets no answer from the great doctor, will Jamie have to go blind all his life?”
“Let us hope he’s there—let us pray he is,” said Doctor Joe.
“But suppose—suppose he’ll not be there. Be there no one else?” Thomas insisted.
“I—don’t know,” admitted Doctor Joe. “I don’t know. Once I knew another surgeon—a young man—who performed such operations, but he went wrong and lost his skill and had to stop operating. I’d not like to trust Jamie with him. But we’ll hope the great doctor is in New York.”
They stood in silence for a little.
“Poor little lad! Poor little lad!” sighed Thomas, finally.
“’Tis hard,” sympathized Doctor Joe, who was fond of Jamie. “And there’s another thing, Thomas,” he continued. “You and I must catch more fur this year than we ever caught before, for there’s the mail boat and another steamer to pay the passage on, and they charge a good deal. Trowbridge & Gray pay good prices for fur, and pay cash. Let us hope one of us will catch a silver fox. We’ll need it. I’ll put in all I earn to help save Jamie’s sight.”
“Aye,” said Thomas, “We’ll do our best, and—Doctor Joe—I’m wonderful thankful to you.”
“Thomas, I owe it to you to do everything I can for Jamie, even if I didn’t want to do it so much for Jamie’s own sake,” and Doctor Joe’s voice was strangely husky. “You’ve helped cure me of a dreadful disease—I hope I’m cured—I pray God that I am—but I still need your help and friendship to make me strong.”
“Me—cure you of something?” asked Thomas, mystified. “I was never givin’ you medicine, or curin’