I'll take you to the doctor that attended her.

I know how you feel." I had passed a sleepless night before I remembered to feel revolted at the sympathy of this hussy who had helped to bring my mother to her death--and I did not go near her.

But I inquired my way from one doctor to another--there were not many in Madison then--until I found one, named Mix, who had treated my mother in her last illness.

She was weak and run down, he said, and couldn't stand a run of lung fever, which had carried her off.
"Did she mention me ?" I asked.
"At the very last," said Doctor Mix, "she said once or twice, 'He had to work too hard!' I don't know who she meant.

Not Rucker, eh ?" I shook my head--I knew what she meant.
"And," said he, "if you can see your way clear to arrange with old Rucker to pay my bill--winter is on now, and I could use the money." I pulled out my pocketbook and paid the bill.
"Thank you, my boy," said he, "thank you!" "I'm glad to do it," I answered--and turned away my head.
"Anything more I can do for you ?" asked Doctor Mix, much kinder than before.
"I'd be much obliged," I replied, "if you could tell me where I can find some one that'll be able to show me my mother's grave." "I'll take you there," he said quickly.
We rode to the graveyard in his sleigh, the bells jingling too merrily by far, I thought; and then to a marble-cutter from whom I bought a headstone to be put up in the spring.