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The storm had caught the little house by the shoulders, and was giving
it one of its most violent shakes, when the dog suddenly started up,
gave a growl, then walked solemnly to the door and listened. A footstep
in the old veranda, then the stamping of feet, and a knock at the door
came. It was Critchel, the little snuffy doctor, who entered, looking
for all the world like an enlarged snow-ball. These were the occasions
in which the doctor rose into the most importance, and as his coming had
been waited with great anxiety, great efforts were made by those present
to assure him of the esteem in which he was held. Even the dog would not
go to his accustomed place on the hearth until he had caressed the
doctor at least a dozen times. Although held in great respect by the
settlers, Critchel was what might be called a shabby-looking little man,
for his raiment consisted of a brown coat, which he had worn
threadbare, a pair of greasy pantaloons that were in shreds at the
bottom, a spotted vest, and a Spitlesfield neckerchief.


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