Sister Martha’s splinter_(1)
One evening in 1842 The sun was setting over the western hills bathing the valley side in a golden glow. I looked up from my books and decided to take a walk before darkness fell. Our house stood some way above the village and I decided to walk down to sample a pint or two of ale before supper. “I’m going for a walk I may be some time,” I informed the housekeeper before I strode off in search of refreshment. I had not gone many yards before I came across a Nun hurrying towards the village. “Good evening,” I greeted her, “You seem to be in a great rush.” “We need the doctor,” she explained. “I think I saw him en route to the Stag and Hornet an hour since,” I explained. “Oh no, …