Polly had stretched a bright green drugget
on the floor; the table had a green cloth on it; the picture showed up
well against the whitewashed wall. Behind him was a large deal cupboard,
which held instruments and drugs. The bookshelves with their precious
burden were within reach of his hand; on the top shelf he had stacked
the boxes containing his botanical and other specimens.
The first week or so there was naturally little doing: a sprained wrist
to bandage, a tooth to draw, a case of fly-blight. To keep himself from
growing fidgety, he overhauled his minerals and butterflies, and renewed
faded labels. This done, he went on to jot down some ideas he had, with
regard to the presence of auriferous veins in quartz. It was now
generally agreed that quartz was the matrix; but on the question of how
the gold had found its way into the rock, opinions were sharply divided.
The theory of igneous injection was advanced by some; others inclined to
that of sublimation. Mahony leaned to a combination of the two
processes, and spent several days getting his thoughts in order; while
Polly, bursting with pride, went about on tiptoe audibly hushing the
children: their uncle was writing for the newspapers.
Still no patients worth the name made their appearance. To fend off the
black worry that might get the better of him did he sit idle, he next
drew his Bible to him, and set about doing methodically what he had so
far undertaken merely by fits and starts--deciding for himself to what
degree the Scriptures were inspired.
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