In the early days of Oregon, farms sprang up on the outskirts of Salem and Portland. Fertile soil, abundant rain, sunshine and winter cold provided ideal growing conditions for apple and cherry orchards, berry farms and hopyards. Fruit trees burst into profuse pink and white blossom against the spring green of valley and hill. In winter a different beauty unfolded: black, lacy branches, stark against the surrounding snow and billowing grays of storm-clouds.
    Through all seasons, gentle or harsh, Dr, Gillis drove the country roads in his black buggy, his doctor's bag beside him. Mac, a canny, Morgan horse, bore Angus to the homes where he was needed to deliver babies, perform surgery, stitch wounds and set broken bones. Some nights it was late when, at last done, he climbed back into the buggy, slapped the reins, and leaned back, dozing with weariness as Mac trotted unerringly home.
    This particular Spring morning, the doctor was faced with a dilemma: the Johnson's 12 year old daughter, Nancy, who refused to get out of bed, even though she had seemed completely well from her pneumonia when he last visited her.
    The family had been patients of his for many years; he had, in fact, delivered Nancy on just such a beautiful May morning. Her parents tended to spoil this precious only child; too much of the time they allowed her to have her own willful way.
    By now she should be up and about, gaining back her strength but when Mrs. Johnson visited Angus' office yesterday, she reported that Nancy seemed unable to move her legs.
    "Well," said the doctor. "This is absurd. I don't believe she could be paralyzed."
    "But she insists that she is," replied the mother wearily. "And she refuses our help to get her up."
    "All right. Tomorrow I'11 be out to see her," said Angus briskly.
    And so, the following morning Angus stolidly climbed aboard his buggy, placed his doctor's bag beside him, and resignedly slapped the reins, putting Mac into an easy trot that carried him through the streets of Salem and out on the country road that led to the Johnson's farm.
    Scarcely aware of the lovely countryside, he pondered the strange turn that Nancy's recovery had taken. Paralysis after pneumonia? That was a new one! Were there perhaps other symptoms which might mean the onset of a new illness? He thought not.
    He would examine the child and have a talk with her, staying fully aware of her temperament as a factor. Nancy was the center of her small world; getting her parents and anyone handy to fuss over her was Miss Nancy's game, and she played it well. He was going to have to be the clever one!