Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 24, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 March 1875 — DR. LAMBERT. [ARTICLE]

DR. LAMBERT.

Near the city of Valmont, about half a mile from the New Gate, on the road to Florissant, stands an old stone house rather the worse for age, but still quite habitable. The chief feature of that venerable dwelling is the outside staircase by which the second story is reached. At the top of these stairs is a wide landing-place, surrounded by an iron balustrade, and almost filled with green boxes in which •bloom profusely a variety of bright and fragrant flowers. But what first attracts attention to the place is a belt of small arbors and sum-mer-houses, each surrounded by a narrow flower-bed. These green retreats are furnished with tables and seats, and look very cozy and inviting. The owner of this quiet, yet cheerful, abode was a Miss Morette, fair and forty, and reasonably fat, rather short in stature, quick, bright, and apparently happy, as she deserved to be, for she spent' her whole life in doing good. Miss Morette was not very rich, but she used to say that when there is enough for two there is enough for twelve; it only needed good management and wise economy. She practiced the economy upon herself, and gave to others the benefit of the management. That second story, with the flowery stairs, was devoted to hospitality. During the whole summer it was filled with visitors —old ladies who needed sunshine, tired seamstresses who needed rest, young girls and children who needed fresh air and country milk. These were Miss Morette’s guests. And as she kept but one servant, and did not allow her invalids to work too much, her awn hands were seldom idle. Besides her home duties, she had many outdoor patients to attend to. Early every morning she filled two covered baskets with fruit and flowers, and immediately after her frugal breakfast she started for the city with a basket on each arm, walking briskly, and singing to herself as she went. When she reached the city she threaded her way quietly through the narrowest of its many narrow streets, and for awhile only short glimpses of her small person could be had as she flitted from house to house. In one of her visitations Miss Morette heard that in the next tenement a poor widow had been taken suddenly ill and was supposed to be dying. She went to see her, and found her, as had been reported, evidently near her end. The poor woman was greatly distressed at the thought of leaving her child unprotected. “ I don’t care for myself,” she said, “ but I can’t bear to have her go to the hospital.” “Of course not,” said Miss Morette. “She is a very pretty child; but what makes her look so pale?” “ Rickets,” groaned the woman. “ She is six years old, for all she looks so small. And think of her going to the hospital!” V She need not go to the hospital. I will take care of her myself. I live in the country and I will take good care of her. Will you give her to me?” asked Miss Morette, with tears in her eyes. The dying woman blessed and thanked her; she was willing to die now. “ Suzette,” said Miss Morette to her faithful servant, “lam going to bring here a lovely little girl, is sick and an orphan, so we must take her.” Suzette was quite willing. She adored her mistress, and had often expressed a i desire to “ kiss the ground she trad on.” But more important duties had always prevented her from putting that wish into action, and scrubbing the floors had been her nearest approach to that ideal form of worship. * . The next day the motherless child was brought to her new home and became the pet of the household. She had the face of an angel, but she was weak and sickly. _ “ Country air would do much for her,” said Miss Morette to herself, “ and if art could assist nature I am certain she would soon get well. B,pt good doctors are such expensive blessings!” , The kind little lady was in the habit of prescribing for her family patients. Her father had been a phvsician; and had left her, beside ill his books, a recipe for making pills of such miraculous virtue that they, br the‘fear of them, had never yet failed to cure any disease. But this was a different case! and required a different treatment. So, having

Massed in review all the physicians of Valmont, Miss Morette made up her mind to consult Dr. Lambert. She herself in her best dress — a brown foulard silk with white dots, a cherry-colored crape shawl that had belonged to. her mother, and a respectable white straw bonnet trimmed with brown. Thus becomingly attired, she departed one fine June morning, holding a brown parasol in one hand and in the other a purple velvet reticule containing her knitting; for she might have to wait, and time was too precious to be lost. Everybody in Valmont knew Dr. Lambert, and could relate his history, with variations, but it was generally acknowledged that he was “an original.” His reputation as a physician was great. Yet, although he was only a little over fifty, he had almost given up his profession and practiced only when it suited him. But it was difficult to tell when it suited him, for he was capricious, and took strong likes or dislikes to people without any apparent reason. He was not partial to the fair sex and seldom consented to take a woman under his care unless she was poor. This peculiarity was accounted for by the romantic supposition that he had been deceived in early youth by the woman he loved. The only thing people did not agree upon was the selection of the faithless one. Whatever the doctor might have been in his youth, he was now ugly, cross and crusty. Yet there were those among his patients who thought him an angel of kindness. To his honor be it said, these were poor people who did not pay, and who sorely tried the short patience of their beloved doctor by their long explanations and senseless fear of death. The only intimate friend of Dr. Lambert was his dog Fido. They went everywhere together, and on fine afternoons the doctor and his dog might always be seen sitting at the window, looking at what happened in the street and exchanging opinions thereupon; for the doctor seriously believed that Fido understood what was said to him, and that he made distinct and very sensible remarks upon all subjects worth discussing. And no one had ever dared to contradict the doctor. Miss Morette arrived at the top of the steep street in which the nobility of Valmont chiefly congregate, and where Dr. Lambert had lived for a period of thirty years. She rang the bell of a large stone house, of which he occupied the second floor, and was admitted into the antechamber by the doctor’s housekeeper. Jeannette had shared the vicissitudes of domestic life with the doctor during twenty-five years. She was acquainted with his ways, and delared on all proper occasions that he was the best and kindest of masters. “ Can I see the doctor?” asked Miss Morette, with an engaging smile. That smile reached Jeannette’s heart, and she became instantly confidential. “I am afraid not, ma’am. This is one of his bad days, so to speak, and he wouldn’t be easy to deal with. Is it for yourself, ma’am?” “ No; it is for a little girl, and I want to see him so much!” “Well, you might try, if it is an urgent case. But'it won’t be pleasant for you; he is rather cross this morning.” “ Oh, I do not mind that at all,” said Miss Morette, cheerfully; “it will not hurt me.”

“ No, ma’am; it is all bark and no bite. Only don’t look as if you were afraid of him, for he can’t bear that.” Then she knocked at the doctor’s door. “ Come in,” said a sonorous voice. Jeannette insinuated her head within the room. “It is a lady to consult you about a child, sir.” There was no answer. Taking silence for consent, Jeannette gently pushed Miss Morette into the lion’s den. The doctor was seated at his desk, in one corner of the room, reading. He neither turned his head nor spoke; he seemed buried in his book. Miss Moretta walked quietly to a green sofa, seated herself upon it, unpinned her shawl, took out her work and began to knit. Fido came up to her, and, the smell of her dress being pleasant to his nose, he tried her hand. A few dumb civilities were exchanged between them, after which Fido stretched himself at Miss Morette’s feet and continued his nap. When the doctor got tired of reading he began to write, which he did with great vigor and a loudly-scratching pen. About fifteen minutes had passed in this way, when Miss Morette suddenly broke the silence. “ 0 dear!” she exclaimed, piteously. “ What’s the matter? Are you sick?” asked the doctor, gruffly. “ No, indeed, sir.” “Then why do you disturb me?” “I am sorry. I did not mean to speak, but I dropped a stitch just as I was taking up the heel —but I don’t suppose you know anything about knitting stockings." Then the doctor turned round and looked at his visitor. He saw a plump little figure, a face still fresh and fair, two small clouds of short grayish curls, and two blue eyes that met his with a smile. Her clothes were old-fashioned, but not cheap. She was neither rich nor poor, neither old nor young, neither bold nor yet afraid. The doctor did not know whether to be cross or not. “So you have taken the trouble to come here to tell me I did not know anything about stockings?” Dr.- Lambert spoke sneeringly, but his small, yellowbrown eyes twinkled pleasantly under their bushy eyebrows. “No, sir; I came to speak to you about a little girl. And as I have interrupted you, perhaps you might hear me now, and then I can go away.” And without waiting for an answer Miss Morette stated the case as briefly as possible. “Pooh! It is nothing,’’ said the doctor. ‘‘Give her plenty of milk and fresh air and she will get well.” 7 “ Yes, sir. But I should like to have you look at her.” * “Do you suppose I cure people by looking at them?” “ No, sir. But you might see ” “ Ah, yes—see! That is the way with all women; they always want you to see.

But I, madam, have no time to waste upon sight-seeing. Where do you live?” “ Not Very far, sir; only half a mile—” “’Half a mile! Do you think I would walk half a mile on such a hot day to see anybody?" “ It is not so hot after you have passed the bridges, because there are so many trees. It is on the road to Florissant, the third house on the left from the Green Road. And perhaps you might ride ” “ Perhaps I might. Allow me to say, however, that I am still able to walk. But I will not go so far. I have no time. And I will not go anyway,” said the doctor, working himself into a little storm. Miss Morette gathered up her knitting and asked, serenely: “Do I owe you anything, sir?” “ No, madam, no. lam happy to say that you owe me nothing. I wish you good-day.” Miss Morette returned home somewhat disappointed, but greatly interested. “What a strange man he is,” she thought. “He is so terribly cross and yet he has such warm, bright eyes, as if there was so much goodness in him, somewhere, if you could only get at it.” The same afternoon, while Miss Morette was bending over her flowers, she heard the click of the garden gate, then a long shadow projected itself across the flowerbed and a gruff voice above her said: “ Where is that child?” She arose quickly. Dr. Lambert stood before her. Without expressing her surprise she led him to the house and introduced the child. “This is my little Pauline, doctor.” The doctor tried his best to be cross, but he could not do it. Pauline’s lovely face, framed in soft golden curls, her great, pathetic, black eyes, had a power and charm which no one could withstand. He examined her in silence, wrote a short prescription, and then said: ‘“Sne will get well. All she really needs is plenty of sleep, good food and pure air. These you can probably give her.” “Yes. sir; our food is simple, but good.’’ “ All the better for being simple. I suppose you would like to feed her on icecream and port wine?” 1 would if I could afford it. Itwould coax her appetite.” “No doubt it would, but she can do without them.”

As the doctor did not seem in a hurry to go, Miss Morette showed him her garden, of which she was very proud. “ What are those things for?” asked the doctor, pointing to the semi-circle of summer-houses. “ They are little greeneries for my old ladies to sit in.” “ They look like a menagerie.” “Do they? I think they look very pretty. You see they are surrounded by little flower-beds, with plenty of mignonette. I think the smell of mignonette is good for people.” As she spoke she picked a few sprigs of her favorite flower and gave them to the doctor, and as he did not seem to know what to do with them she put them in his button-hole, as she had often done for her father. Perhaps the smell of mignonette was good for the doctor, for he became quiet and almost gentle. When they arrived at tbe gate he asked: “ Why do you keep this flock of old women? Do you think they will be grateful?” “I do not know. But it does me good; I enjoy it.” “Do you? Then you must be very happy.” “ I am,” she replied, softly, almost reverently. Had she seen the look the doctor gave her she would have been almost alarmed at the warmth of its kindness. But the innocent little lady was meditating a great mistake. ■„ “ Doctor,” she said, “ I am very much obliged to you for coming. I dare not ask you to come again, but —may I go to tell you when Pauline is better?” “ Madam,” said the doctor, savagely, “ I do not allow mv patients to destroy the peace of my household, I do not wish to be constantly reminded of them. And I have the honor to bid you farewell.” And he strode away, followed by Fido. The next day Miss Morette was seated at her window, holding Pauline on her lap, when a strange vision appeared before her astonished eyes. Dr. Lambert, or his ghost, was walking up the garden path, with a large tin can in his hand and two long white parcels ing out of his pockets and bobbing amiably on each side of him. After the fashion of ghosts, he entered without knocking. But it was a decidedly living and lively voice that said: “ Come, bring me two saucers and two spoons. Be quick!”

Miss Morette did as she was told, and the doctor opened the tin can. It contained some sawdust and a smaller can filled with pink and white ice-cream, which he deposited in the two saucers. “ Don't say anything; eat it before it is all melted. Be quick!” commanded the doctor, trying to look wicked. The ice-cream being disposed of, Dr. Lambert emptied his pockets. “ Here is some port wine, which you will please use generously, as there is plenty more where this comes from. And now that you have what you wanted, madam, I hope you will be more graciors than you were yesterday.” Miss Morette was so astonished at the doctor’s doings that nothing he could say had any power to rouse her. She was gracious, and nothing disturbed the peace of that visit. After this the doctor came every afternoon; for, as he said, “the child must be fed." - Before the summer was over he hacT quarreled with every human being in the establishment ekcept little Pauline. He scolded the old women, he stormed at the children, he , laughed at Miss Morette’s pills, he declared Suzette was a goose. Yet, in spite of all this,- no one" 1 was afraid of him, and every one loved him. , Miss Morette fought for her pills and her altars, undismayed by frowns and

sneers. If there was one thing the doctor epjoyed in his secret soul it was good-natured contradiction,, and Miss Morette gave him that pleasure unsparingly whenever it became necessary. As for little Pauline, she looked upon her old friend with the eyes of love. “You are so good and so pretty!” she said to him one day. The doctor knew he was not “pretty,” and he had serious doubts about being “good,” but he was deeply touched by the feeling that had inspired the words. When the cool days of autumn had sent away Miss Morette’s guests Dr. Lambert’s visits acquired a certain intimacy and friendliness that made them still more pleasant. He spent his afternoons in the little parlor, where a bright wood fire burned all day, and in that room he seemed to forget that his chief duty was to be cross. He played youthful games with Pauline and Fido, usually ending off with a touching representation of Red Riding-Hood, in which the doctor, crowned with a red cap, greatly distinguished himself as a naughty little girl, and meekly submitted to being dej voured by Pauline. While she took her nap he related to Miss Morette many an anecdote of his past life and told her all his old jokes, which were as good as new to her. And she listened and laughed and sewed for the poor with equal energy and enjoyment But, alas! “AH that’s bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that’s sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.” One bright, frosty December morning the doctor made his appearance in high spirits. “ I come early because I have something important to say to you,” he explained. “ What is it?" asked Miss Morette, with a sudden presentiment of evil. “Itis this: I have thought of it for some time, and this morning Jeannette and I came to an understanding. I have a great favor to ask you. 1 hope you will not refuse it. Will you let me have Pauline for a little while?”

“Let you have Pauline? Of course not, gir.” “Wait—wait till I tell you all. I would like to have her with me for two or three months. We would drive over every afternoon to see you. Jeannette is fond of children; she would take good care of her and you would have a little rest. What do you think of my plan now?” “I do not need rest, sir. I could not part from Pauline; her mother gave her to me on her death-bed and I cannot let her go.” “Don’t be obstinate and sentimental." “My dear doctor, it is such a strange idea! What would you do with her? She would be a great trouble to you.” “ She would be a great comfort. I am attached to her. I have neither kith nor kin, and I can be a good friend to her if you only had the sense to see it.” “But you are her friend now; you can ” “Will you let her come? Yes or no ?” “ No, sir; I cannot do that." “ Is it your last word ?’’ “ It is, sir.” “Very well.” And the doctor left the house, slamming the doors severely. The next day came and went. Several other days followed, but no doctor came with them. Three weeks had p assed and the doctor had made no sign. “ Never mind,” whispered Miss Morette, as she kissed her little Pauline. But she minded very much; she minded so much that she wondered at herself. No real change had come over her life, yet everything was chahged, and had become stale, flat and unprofitable. It was Christmas week; A light snow was softly falling. Pauline was taking her afternoon nap, and Miss Morette sat alone by the fire, sewing and thinking. Suddenly she heard a well-known and longed-for step. Her heart beat faster, but she neither moved nor looked. “Good-afternoon,” said Dr. Lambert. “ Good-afternoon, sir.” The doctor sat down in his accustomed arm-chair and began to poke the firs. “Are you all well?” “Very well, thank you. Pauline is sleeping in the other room.” “It is a pretty cold day; winter is coming upon us in earnest.” But Miss Morette was too glad to think of the weather, and she forgot to answer. Perhaps the doctor was glad too, or perhaps it was the light of the fire, but his eyes shone very brightly and his face had a peaceful, pleasant expression. Having enjoyed the silence long enough, he asked: “ Didn’t you wdnder where I was all this time?” “We supposed you had gone out of town." “ Or out of .the world, for all you cared, no doubt.” “ We might have gone out of the world too, you know’ ” “Yes, so you might. Did you miss me?” “We did. Pauline was quite anxious about you.” “ 1 said nothing about Pauline. I said did you miss me. Can you make a direct answer to a direct question?” “Oh yes, indeed!” “ ‘ Oh yes, indeed,’ what?” “ How cross you are!” said Miss Morette, deliberately. “Cross, ami? I suppose you missed that?” “ Yes, sir.” “Then you must be sorry I came back?” The flannel garment upon which Miss Morette was engaged became refractory, and required all her skill and attention, so she lost that last remark. L. The doctor relapsed into silence. Yet something must have tickled him, for-he smiled at the poker. At last he said: “ I carhe to ask your opinion on a serious subject. Do you think lam too old to marry?" “That would depend on the age of your wife, sir.” “Exactly. How very wise you are! Perhaps you think I am too cross to be a good husband?”

“ That would depend on your wife too. Perhaps she might like it.” “And why should she like it?” “She would if she liked you, I suppose.” “Like! like! Who cares for liking? That leaves a man out in the cold, and a woman too. By the way, why did you not marry?” “ Oh, for several good reasons.” “ State your reasons, if you please?” “In the first place I never had an offer. In the second place ” “That will do,” said the doctor. “ That suits me perfectly. I make you an offer now.” Miss Morette blushed a little, but she did not speak. —— “ Why do you not answer me?” “ You have not said anything.” “ Then I will say something. Madam, will you be my wife?” “ Because you want Pauline?" “ No, because I want you. Look at me." Miss Morette looked at the doctor. She had always thought that his eyes were beautiful, and the present investigation confirmed that opinion. “Well?” asked Dr. Lambert. “Well?” answered Miss Morette. And when Pauline had joined them, and the little group sat cozily by the fire, Fido wagged his tail in a way that said very plainly that, as far as he could see, everything was well, and likely to remain so.