The
new roof went on, slate replacing shingles, the year Abby
put her hair up; the bathroom was contemporary with
Oliver's leaving school; the electric light was actually
turned on for the first time in honour of Lorne's return
from Toronto, a barrister and solicitor; several rooms
had been done up for Abby's wedding. Abby had married,
early and satisfactorily, Dr Harry Johnson, who had
placidly settled down to await the gradual succession of
his father's practice; "Dr Harry and Dr Henry" they were
called. Dr Harry lived next door to Dr Henry, and had a
good deal of the old man's popular manner. It was an
unacknowledged partnership, which often provided two
opinions for the same price; the town prophesied well of
it. That left only five at home, but they always had Abby
over in the West Ward, where Abby's housekeeping made an
interest and Abby's baby a point of pilgrimage. These
considerations almost consoled Mrs Murchison declaring,
as she did, that all of them might have gone but Abby,
who alone knew how to be "any comfort or any dependence"
in the house; who could be left with a day's preserving;
and I tell you that to be left by Mrs Murchison with a
day's preserving, be it cherries or strawberries, damsons
or pears, was a mark of confidence not easy to obtain.
Advena never had it; Advena, indeed, might have married
and removed no prop of the family economy.
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