"So ill!" panted Kate, rolling over on her back and holding her heart.
"Here! My heart!"

The girl looked around uncertainly. It must be a jar, Katie conceded,
being called back to life, expected to fight for the very thing one was
running away from. Her rescuer was evidently considering going to the
river for water--saving water (Katie missed none of those fine
points)--but instead she pulled the patient to a sitting position,
supporting her.

"You can breathe better this way, can't you?" she asked solicitously.
"Have you had them before? Will it go away? Shall I call some one?"

Katie rolled her head about as she had seen people do who were dying on
the stage. "Often--before. Go away--soon. But don't leave me!" she
implored, clutching at the girl wildly.

"I will not leave you," the stranger assured her. "I have plenty of
time."

Miss Jones made what the doctors would call a splendid recovery. Her
breath began coming more naturally; her spine seemed to regain control of
her head; her eyes rolled less wildly. "It's going," she panted; "but
you'll have to help me to the house."

"Why of course," replied the girl who was being delayed. "Do you think
I'd leave a sick girl sitting out here all alone?"

Kate felt like apologizing. It seemed rather small--that interrupting a