That is all I want him to do. There is no use in the
pain, that I know of; if he can stop it, let him."
So they sent for the old Doctor. It was not long before the solid trot
of Caustic, the old bay horse, and the crashing of the gravel under the
wheels, gave notice that the physician was driving up the avenue.
The old Doctor was a model for visiting practitioners. He always came
into the sick-room with a quiet, cheerful look, as if he had a
consciousness that he was bringing some sure relief with him. The way a
patient snatches his first look at his doctor's face, to see whether he
is doomed, whether he is reprieved, whether he is unconditionally
pardoned, has really something terrible about it. It is only to be met
by an imperturbable mask of serenity, proof against anything and
everything in a patient's aspect. The physician whose face reflects his
patient's condition like a mirror may do well enough to examine people
for a life-insurance office, but does not belong to the sickroom. The
old Doctor did not keep people waiting in dread suspense, while he stayed
talking about the case,--the patient all the time thinking that he and
the friends are discussing some alarming symptom or formidable operation
which he himself is by-and-by--to hear of.
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