All this, however, did not prevent Dr. Littlejohn from making frequent
visits to the Whitmore home, and always his coming meant joy to three
weary, troubled hearts. To-day he brought a great handful of pink
carnations and dropped them into the lap of the blind woman.
"Sweets to the sweet!" he cried gayly, as he patted the slim hand on the
arm of the chair.
"Doctor Ned--you dear boy! Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed Mrs. Whitmore,
burying her face in the fragrant flowers. "And, doctor, I want to speak
to you," she broke off earnestly. "I want you to talk to Meg and Kathie.
Perhaps they will listen to you. I want them to go out more. Tell them,
please, that I don't need them all the time now."
"Dear me, how independent we are going to be!" laughed the doctor. "And
so we don't need any more attention now, eh?"
"Betty will do."
"Betty?" It was hard, sometimes, for the doctor to remember.
"The maid," explained Mrs. Whitmore; "though, for that matter, there
might as well be no maid--the girls never let her do a thing for me."
"No?" returned the doctor easily, sure now of where he stood. "But you
don't expect me to interfere in this housekeeping business!"
"Somebody must," urged Mrs. Whitmore. "The girls must leave me more.
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