And early in the morning of the day she was to get up Doc Philipps
drove up in his buggy with what seemed like a young garden tucked
inside it. Fanny's garden and borders had been sadly neglected during
her sickness. The doctor had had John clean the whole thing up and
then he came with his arms and buggy full of blossoming tulips,
hyacinths and every bloom that was in flower then and would bear
transplanting. And for hours he and John worked to make a little
fairyland for Fanny.
"My God, John, I couldn't mend her body--nobody could. But between us
we have got to mend her spirit." And the old doctor blew his nose hard
to hide the trembling of his chin.
But no chair, no amount of tulips and hyacinths, could make up to Fanny
the loss of her body. And Green Valley knew this. So Green Valley was
talking more seriously than ever of driving out from among them the
thing that was pushing Jim Tumley into a drunkard's grave, that was
estranging hitherto happy wives and husbands and maiming innocent men,
women and children. Little Billy was all right again but he was now a
timid youngster and inclined to be jumpy at sight of a smartly trotting
horse. Hank Lolly's leg was healed up but Doc said he would always
limp a bit.
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