Yet I
noted distinctly, and even with a nice discrimination of scrutiny, the
red-haired and bright-eyed man, portly and somewhat pompous-looking,
with his plump hands folded over his vest, who stood before me, looking
pityingly down on my suffering face.
After a time I gathered up my forces sufficiently to inquire, being
quite thawed and comforted by the reviving heat of the apartment, how
far it might be to the house of Dr. Pemberton, who resided in the block
of houses known as Kendrick's Row, on Maple Street.
"It is nearly a square and a half, miss, by street measurement just now,
as, on account of changes, this is impassable," was the prompt reply.
"Scarcely half a square by the alley that runs from my back-door, after
a short turn, straight through to Maple Street; and, if it is only
question of a message, I can send Caleb, so that you may await the
coming of the doctor in comfort, in this emporium. He always uses his
gig for night-visits, and will, no doubt, be happy to carry you home in
his wolfskin."
"Thanks--there is no question of a medical visit. I have very important
business with him. I must see him in his own house. I will go without
further delay. But, perhaps"--lingering a moment--"you would be so good
as to suffer Mr. Caleb to show me the short way you spoke of? I shall
not mind going through the alley at all.
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