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For the next two or three days he did not visit the Robinsons, but gave himself up to past memories. On the third day he had–it must be confessed not without some effort–brought himself into that condition of patient sorrow which had been his habit. The episode of the storm and the finding of the baby began to fade, as had faded the visit of his relatives. It had been a dull, wet day and he was sitting by his fire, when there came a tap at his door. “Flora;” by which juvenescent name his aged Indian handmaid was known, usually announced her presence with an imitation of a curlew’s cry: it could not be her. He fancied he heard the trailing of a woman’s dress against the boards, and started to his feet, deathly pale, with a name upon his lips. But the door was impatiently thrown open, and showed Bessy Robinson! And the baby!

With a feeling of relief he could not understand he offered her a seat. She turned her frank eyes on him curiously.

“You look skeert!”

“I was startled. You know I see nobody here!”

“Thet’s so. But look yar, do you ever use a doctor?”

Not clearly understanding her, he in turn asked, “Why?”

“Cause you must rise up and get one now–thet’s why. This yer baby of ours is sick. We don’t use a doctor at our house, we don’t beleeve in ’em, hain’t no call for ’em–but this yer baby’s parents mebbee did. So rise up out o’ that cheer and get one.”

James North looked at Miss Robinson and rose, albeit a little in doubt, and hesitating.

Miss Robinson saw it. “I shouldn’t hev troubled ye, nor ridden three mile to do it, if ther hed been any one else to send. But Dad’s over at Eureka, buying logs, and I’m alone. Hello–wher yer goin’?”

North had seized his hat and opened the door. “For a doctor,” he replied amazedly.

“Did ye kalkilate to walk six miles and back?”

“Certainly–I have no horse.”

“But I have, and you’ll find her tethered outside. She ain’t much to look at, but when you strike the trail she’ll go.”

“But YOU–how will YOU return?”

“Well,” said Miss Robinson, drawing her chair to the fire, taking off her hat and shawl, and warming her knees by the blaze, “I didn’t reckon to return. You’ll find me here when you come back with the doctor. Go! Skedaddle quick!”

She did not have to repeat the command. In another instant James North was in Miss Bessy’s seat–a man’s dragoon saddle,–and pounding away through the sand. Two facts were in his mind: one was that he, the “looney,” was about to open communication with the wisdom and contemporary criticism of the settlement, by going for a doctor to administer to a sick and anonymous infant in his possession; the other was that his solitary house was in the hands of a self-invited, large-limbed, illiterate, but rather comely young woman. These facts he could not gallop away from, but to his credit be it recorded that he fulfilled his mission zealously, if not coherently, to the doctor, who during the rapid ride gathered the idea that North had rescued a young married woman from drowning, who had since given birth to a child.

The few words that set the doctor right when he arrived at the cabin might in any other community have required further explanation, but Dr. Duchesne, an old army surgeon, was prepared for everything and indifferent to all. “The infant,” he said, “was threatened with inflammation of the lungs; at present there was no danger, but the greatest care and caution must be exercised. Particularly exposure should be avoided.” “That settles the whole matter, then,” said Bessy potentially. Both gentlemen looked their surprise. “It means,” she condescended to further explain, “that YOU must ride that filly home, wait for the old man to come to-morrow, and then ride back here with some of my duds, for thar’s no ‘day-days’ nor picknicking for that baby ontil she’s better. And I reckon to stay with her ontil she is.”