" The doctor patted her shoulder with a fatherly caress; then he
turned to go into the house.
"Give me leave to prescribe for Mrs. Richardson?" she called after him.
"Yes, I make her over to you, and you can date your first case from this
afternoon," he answered.
"No; I'd rather have something a little younger and more interesting. I
will be ready to start, right after lunch."
The office door closed behind her father, and Phebe let her book
slide from her knee, as she rested her tired eyes on the fresh green
lawn before her. For the past three months, she had worked hard,
eager to prove that her home-coming had been inspired by no sudden
whim, still more eager to win her father's professional approval. Her
work was interesting; and yet at times bones and arteries and nerves
had a tendency to pall upon her. She had never dreamed that so much
drudgery would attend the early stages of her professional studies.
She was heartily sick of the theoretical, and she longed for the
practical. She had even teased her father to let her go with him on
his rounds. Instead, he had laughed at her and prescribed a further
course of drudgery.
"Never mind." she said to herself sturdily. "I'll get there, some day. I
won't always carry pills to old women; and when I do get a real case of
my own won't I astonish them all!" And events justified her assertion.
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