Doctor Brent was up early that morning on a call to the widow Potter’s, a mile or so down the road from his own house. In fact a very frightened young Potter grandson had come a-tapping on his door quite before dawn and brought him back to the fevered old lady. The doctor exercised his skill, waited for a more favorable sign from the patient and then, near breakfast, got upon his horse and returned slowly toward his own hearth, meditating a little upon the wonderful vitality of these simple-living New England people. The day promised to be hot. There was in the air that forecast of sultriness not uncommon to June weather, and over in the direction of Boston town the sun hovered below the se…
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