Two Letters

THE FIRST Big Jerry's Cabin,
January 15, 1914.

My dear Dr. MacDonald, Although this is theoretically only my semi-weekly report, made in
accordance with your instructions, I feel in the letter-writing mood,
for a wonder, so I _may_ overstep professional bounds, and become
loquacious--if one can do that with pen and ink.

Rose talks about you so continually that I am actually myself beginning
to regard you as an intimate friend, instead of an austere and somewhat
awe-inspiring "boss." I should probably not be brave enough to say that
to your face; but I find that my courage rises in adverse ratio to my
nearness to you.

First, however, for my report. The little patient is still convalescing
in a highly satisfactory manner, and with a rapidity which speaks
volumes both for her own strong constitution and this mountain as a
health resort.

The wound remains perfectly healthy and is healing without suppuration
or parting--which "speaks volumes" for your skill. I am quite certain
that the scar will be merely a thin white line, and not in the least a
disfigurement. The silk stitches are ready to be removed and the others
nearly dissolved.

Yesterday that funny, countrified doctor, from down in the village, came
up to see her--fame of your operation having spread. He "reckoned" that
the child's recovery was nothing less than a miracle, and that he takes
his hat off to you. I told him that most physicians did.