CHAPTER XVI.
MOLLIE'S DESPAIR.
Dr.Oleander descended the stairs, passed through the lower hall, and entered the kitchen--a big, square room, bleak and draughty, like all the rest of the old, rickety place, but lighted by a roaring fire.
Old Sally was bustling about over pots and stew-pans, getting supper; old Peter stood at the table peeling potatoes.

In an arm-chair before the fire sat another old woman with snaky-black eyes, hooked nose, and incipient black mustache.
Old Sally was volubly narrating what had transpired upstairs, and cut herself short upon the entrance of her master.
"How are you, mother ?" said Dr.Oleander, nodding to the venerable party in the arm-chair.

"Sally's telling you about my patient, is she ?" His mother's answer was a stifled scream, which Sally echoed.
"Well, what now ?" demanded the doctor.
"You look like a ghost! Gracious me, Guy!" cried his mother, in consternation; "you're whiter than the tablecloth." Dr.Oleander ground out an oath.
"I dare say I am.

I've just had a scare from that little, crazy imp that would blanch any man.

I thought, in my soul, she was going to spring upon me like a panther and choke me.