Ah, Doctor Mitchell, the scariest seventy year old to practice medicine...in any county. He leaned out the door as folk filed out then arched a snowy eyebrow at Bill. "You, Prdy kid, in here. Now." He arched a finger absolutely expecting to be obeyed.

After all, most folk in these parts hopped to when he patched a wound or two parents didn't need to know about.

"Fill me in. Girl hasn't been eating right, pink as a carnation, and tough as whipcord. Thinking you have an opinion." He noted as he worked the blade out of Clarice's shoulder gently and set to stitching with a good magnifying glass.