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 Cassandra 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. Cassandra 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 Cassandra and the doctor were glad to escape into the outer air. He tried to make the mother understand his directions as to