His physician's feeling instantly alert, he stepped to the bedside and bent over the wasted form, which seemed hardly to raise the clothing from its level smoothness, as if she had lain motionless since some careful hand had arranged it.
"No, ye don't know me, I reckon. 'Tain't likely. Who be ye?" she
iterated, still looking unflinchingly in his eyes.
"Hit's a gentleman who knows Doctah Hoyle, mothah. He sent him. Don't fret you'se'f," said the girl soothingly.
"I'm not one of the frettin' kind," retorted the mother, never taking her eyes from his face, and again speaking in a weak monotone. "Who be ye?"
"My name is David Thryng, and I am a doctor," he said quietly.
"Where be ye from?"
"I came from Canada, the country where Doctor Hoyle lives."
"I reckon so. He used to tell 'at his home was thar." A pallid hand was reached slowly out to him. "I'm right glad to see ye. Take a cheer and set. Bring a cheer, Sally."
But the girl had already placed him a chair, which he drew close to the
bedside. He took the feeble old hand and slipped his fingers along to rest lightly on the wrist.
"You needn't stan' watchin' me, Cass. You 'n' Sally set suthin' fer th' doctah to eat. I reckon ye're all about gone fer hunger."
"Yes, mothah, right soon. Fry a little pork to go with the pone, Aunt Sally. Is any coffee left in the pot?"
"I done put in a leetle mo' when I heered the mule hollah. I knowed ye'd want it. Might throw in a mite mo' now th' gentleman's come."
The two women resumed their preparations for supper, the boy continued to stand and gaze, and the high voice of the frail