“Yes.”
“Take my sleigh and get the best doctor in town to come here at once. Bring him with you if you can; if he can’t come at once, drive home yourself. I will stay here.”
“But”—hesitated Miss Boutelle.
“I will stay here,” he repeated.
The door closed on the young girl, and Falloner, still bending over the child, presently heard the sleigh-bells pass away in the storm. He still sat with his bent head, held by the tiny clasp of those thin fingers. But the child’s eyes were fixed so intently upon him that Mrs. Ricketts leaned over the strangely-assorted pair and said—
“It’s your brother d**k, dearie. Don’t you know him?”
The child’s lips moved faintly. “d**k’s dead,” she whispered.
“She’s wandering,” said Mrs. Ricketts. “Speak to her.” But Bob, with his eyes on the child’s, lifted a
