teen in the blue-canopied bed was the one he intended to transplant into another soil.
A short, sharp tap announced his arrival. The nurse opened the door.
"Good-morning, little girl—ah, ah! Saint Valentine's Day? I had forgotten it; all those came this morning?" he said cheerily, pointing to a table on which Gabrielle had placed all the remembrances but the flowers.
"Yes, Doctor Heath; but my best valentine, you know, is papa, and after him, you."
"Hm, flatterer!" growled the Doctor, feeling her pulse. "Pretty good, pretty good. Think we can get you up for half a day. What do you say, nurse?"
"I think it will do her good, Doctor Heath; she has no appetite yet, and a little exercise might help her to it."
"No appetite?" The two eyebrows drew together in a straight line over the bridge of his nose, and, from under them, a pair of keen eyes looked at Hazel.
"Well, I've planned something that will give you a splendid one, Hazel,—the best kind of a tonic—"
"Oh, I don't want to take any more tonics. I am so sick of them," said Hazel, in a despairing tone, for although she adored the Doctor, she despised his medicines.
"You won't get sick of this tonic so soon, I'll warrant," he said, unbending his brows and letting the full twinkle of his fine eyes shine forth, "at least not after you are used to it. I won't say but that it may cause a certain kind of sickness at first; in fact, I'm sure of it."
