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“You can certainly cook. It’s a pity you are such a detestable crank in other respects.”

“It’s kind of convenient being a crank,” I said. “People are careful how they meddle with you. Haven’t you found that out in your own experience?”

“I am NOT a crank,” growled Alexander Abraham resentfully. “All I ask is to be let alone.”

“That’s the very crankiest kind of crank,” I said. “A person who wants to be let alone flies in the face of Providence, who decreed that folks for their own good were not to be let alone. But cheer up, Mr. Bennett. The quarantine will be up on Tuesday and then you’ll certainly be let alone for the rest of your natural life, as far as William Adolphus and I are concerned. You may then return to your wallowing in the mire and be as dirty and comfortable as of yore.”

Alexander Abraham growled again. The prospect didn’t seem to cheer him up as much as I should have expected. Then he did an amazing thing. He poured some cream into a saucer and set it down before William Adolphus. William Adolphus lapped it up, keeping one eye on Alexander Abraham lest the latter should change his mind. Not to be outdone, I handed Mr. Riley a bone.

Neither Alexander Abraham nor I had worried much about the smallpox. We didn’t believe he would take it, for he hadn’t even seen the girl who was sick. But the very next morning I heard him calling me from the upstairs landing.

“Miss MacPherson,” he said in a voice so uncommonly mild that it gave me an uncanny feeling, “what are the symptoms of smallpox?”

“Chills and flushes, pain in the limbs and back, nausea and vomiting,” I answered promptly, for I had been reading them up in a patent medicine almanac.

“I’ve got them all,” said Alexander Abraham hollowly.

I didn’t feel as much scared as I should have expected. After enduring a woman hater and a brindled dog and the early disorder of that house–and coming off best with all three–smallpox seemed rather insignificant. I went to the window and called to Thomas Wright to send for the doctor.

The doctor came down from Alexander Abraham’s room looking grave.

“It’s impossible to pronounce on the disease yet,” he said. “There is no certainty until the eruption appears. But, of course, there is every likelihood that it is the smallpox. It is very unfortunate. I am afraid that it will be difficult to get a nurse. All the nurses in town who will take smallpox cases are overbusy now, for the epidemic is still raging there. However, I’ll go into town to-night and do my best. Meanwhile, at present, you must not go near him, Peter.”

I wasn’t going to take orders from any man, and as soon as the doctor had gone I marched straight up to Alexander Abraham’s room with some dinner for him on a tray. There was a lemon cream I thought he could eat even if he had the smallpox.

“You shouldn’t come near me,” he growled. “You are risking your life.”

“I am not going to see a fellow creature starve to death, even if he is a man,” I retorted.

“The worst of it all,” groaned Alexander Abraham, between mouthfuls of lemon cream, “is that the doctor says I’ve got to have a nurse. I’ve got so kind of used to you being in the house that I don’t mind you, but the thought of another woman coming here is too much. Did you give my poor dog anything to eat?”

“He has had a better dinner than many a Christian,” I said severely.

Alexander Abraham need not have worried about another woman coming in. The doctor came back that night with care on his brow.

“I don’t know what is to be done,” he said. “I can’t get a soul to come here.”

“I shall nurse Mr. Bennett,” I said with dignity. “It is my duty and I never shirk my duty. I am noted for that. He is a man, and he has smallpox, and he keeps a vile dog; but I am not going to see him die for lack of care for all that.”