Part 17 (1/2)

David was troubled indeed, but what could he do? He explained his need of her quickly, in low tones, outside the door. ”I believe you are strong and brave and can do it as well as a man, but I hate to ask it of you. There is not time to wait. It must be done to-day, now.”

”I'll help you,” she said simply, and walked into the hut. She had become deadly pale, and he followed her and placed his fingers on her pulse, holding her hand and looking down in her eyes.

”You trust me?” he asked.

”Oh, yes. I must.”

”Yes--you must--dear child. You are all right. Don't be troubled, but just think we are trying to save his life. Look at me now, and take in all I say.”

Then he placed her with her back to his work, taught her how to count the man's pulse and to give the ether; but the patient demurred. He would not take it.

”Naw, I kin stand hit. Go ahead, Doctor.”

”See here, Cate Irwin. You are bound to do as Doctor Thryng says or die,” she said, bending over him. ”Take this, and I'll sit by you every minute and never take my hand off yours. Stop tossing. There!” He obeyed her, and she sat rigidly still and waited.

The moments pa.s.sed in absolute silence. Her heart pounded in her breast and she grew cold, but never took her eyes from the still, deathlike face before her. In her heart she was praying--praying to be strong enough to endure the horror of it--not to faint nor fall--until at last it seemed to her that she had turned to stone in her place; but all the time she could feel the faintly beating pulse beneath her fingers, and kept repeating David's words: ”We are trying to save his life--we are trying to save his life.”

David finished. Moving rapidly about, he washed, covered, and carried away, and set all in order so that nothing betrayed his grewsome task.

Then he came to her and took both her cold hands in his warm ones and led her to the door. She swayed and walked weakly. He supported her with his arm and, once out in the sweet air, she quickly recovered. He praised her warmly, eagerly, taking her hands in his, and for the first time, as the faint rose crept into her cheeks, he felt her to be moved by his words; but she only smiled as she drew her hands away and turned toward the house.

”They'll be back directly, and I promised to have something for them to eat.”

”Then I'll help you, for our man is coming out all right now, and I feel--if he can have any kind of care--he will live.”

The sky had become overcast with heavy clouds and the wind had risen, blowing cold from the north. David replaced the shutter he had torn off and mended the fire with fuel he found scattered about the yard; while Ca.s.sandra swept and set the place in order and the resuscitated patient looked about a room neater and more homelike than he had ever slept in before. Ca.s.sandra searched out a few articles with which to prepare a meal--the usual food of the mountain poor--salt pork, and corn-meal mixed with water and salt and baked in the ashes. David watched her as she moved about the dark cabin, lighted only by the fitful flames of the fireplace, to perform those gracious, homely tasks, and would have helped her, but he could not.

At last the woman and her brood came streaming in, and Ca.s.sandra and the doctor were glad to escape into the outer air. He tried to make the mother understand his directions as to the care of her husband, but her pa.s.sive ”Yas, suh” did not rea.s.sure him that his wishes would be carried out, and his hopes for the man's recovery grew less as he realized the conditions of the home. After riding a short distance, he turned to Ca.s.sandra.

”Won't you go back and make her understand that he is to be left absolutely alone? Scare her into making the children keep away from his bed, and not climb into it. You made him do as I wished, with only a word, and maybe you can do something with her. I can't.”

She turned back, and David watched her at the door talking with the woman, who came out to her and handed her a bundle of something tied in a meal sack. He wondered what it might be, and Ca.s.sandra explained.

”These are the yarbs I sent her and the children aftah. I didn't know how to rid the cabin of them without I sent for something, and now I don't know what to do with these. We--we're obliged to use them some way.” She hesitated--”I reckon I didn't do right telling her that--do you guess? I had to make out like you needed them and had sent back for them; it--it wouldn't do to mad her--not one of her sort.” Her head drooped with shame and she added pleadingly, ”Mother has used these plants for making tea for sick folks--but--”

He rode to her side and lifted the unwieldy load to his own horse, ”Be ye wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove,” he said, laughing.

”How do you mean?”

”You were wise. You did right where I would only have done harm and been brutal. Can't you see these have already served their purpose?”

”I don't understand.”

”You told her to get them because you wished to make her think she was doing something for her husband, didn't you? And you couldn't say to her that she would help most by taking herself out of the way, could you?

She could not understand, and so they have served their purpose as a means of getting her quietly and harmlessly away so we could properly do our work.”

”But I didn't say so--not rightly; I made her think--”

”Never mind what you said or made her think. You did right, G.o.d knows.

We are all made to work out good--often when we think erroneously, just as you made her uncomprehendingly do what she ought. If ever she grows wise enough to understand, well and good; if not, no harm is done.”