Transcriber's note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document havebeen preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
MAVIS OF GREEN HILL
BY
FAITH BALDWIN
(Mrs. Hugh Hamlin Cuthrell)
BOSTON
SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1921,
By SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
To
JEAN WICK
In Gratitude and Affection
MAVIS OF GREEN HILL
CHAPTER I
Green Hill, June
A new doctor has arrived in Green Hill!
Sarah told me so this morning when she brought in mybreakfast. She set the tray down with an agitated thump,and after her strong arms had raised me a little higheramong the pillows, she stepped back, folded her handsbeneath her apron, and fixed me with a portentous eye.
"Now do try and relish your breakfast, Miss Mavis,"she coaxed, "there's a good girl!"
An undercurrent of excitement colored her tone. Ilooked upon her with suspicion. But I know my Sarah.Like Fate, and the village fire-company, she is not to behurried. Very casually, I reached for my glass of milk.Years of lying comparatively flat on a useless back tendto the development of patience as a necessity.
"What time is it?" I inquired conversationally.
"Past nine."
I set the glass aside, and bit reflectively into a crisptriangle of toast. Since I've become so clever at eatingand drinking, there's a sense of adventure about thesecommonplace functions which no whole person could evercomprehend. Sarah, busying herself with details of window-shadesand counterpanes, watching me meanwhilefrom the corner of her eye, waited until I had turned indifferently2to my pillows again, before making the followingterse but thrilling remark.
"Your pink rose-bush's come into blossom, MissMavis."
Here was news indeed! My unconcern took unto itselfwings and flew away.
"Not really!" I cried, "Oh, Sarah, how perfectlydarling of her to waken so early!"
Sarah, accustomed to my extravagant fashion of endowingall growing things with distinct personalities,nodded gravely. And then, with all the majesty of Jove—ifone may picture that deity as female, fifty, and NewEngland incarnate—she launched her thunderbolt ofGreen Hill gossip.
"That young doctor—him that was to come from thecity to help Doctor McAllister with his patien's—he'shere!"
There was more truth than enunciation in Sarah'sneglect of that final "t" in patients. Our village doctoris long on wisdom, but short of temper. I reached outfor the morning paper, lying on my bedside table, andrustled it in dismissal.
"How interesting!" I murmured, successfully concealingany concern at all.
Sarah swooped down upon my tray and bore it to thedoor, in a manner which carried conviction. But we candeceive each other so little, Sarah and I.
"Come last night," she volunteered, "from New York.And every girl in Green Hill is furbishing up her Sundayclothes, so Sammy said."
Sammy, surnamed Simpson, the freckled-faced Mercurywho delivers the milk, and is in close touch with allthe divers heart-throbs of Green Hill, holds a sentimental,3if unacknowledge