to the house, to find that the icy torrent in Paul's blood had now become
hot.

"I can't stand this, Henry," he said. "We've got the door and window
closed and a big fire burning, and I'm just roasting hot."

"Only a little while longer," said Henry. "The truth is, Paul, you've had
a big chill, and now the fever's come on you. But I'm Dr. Ware, and I'm
going to cure you. When I was up there among the Indians, I learned their
herb remedies, and mighty good some of 'em are, too. They're particularly
strong with chills and fever, and I'm going to make you a tea that'll just
lay hold of you and drive all the fever out of your veins. What you want
to do, Paul, is to sweat, and to sweat gallons."

He spoke in rapid, cheerful tones, wishing to keep up Paul's spirits, in
which effort he succeeded, as Paul's eyes sparkled, and a gleam of humor
lighted up his face.

"Well, Dr. Ware," he said, "I'm mighty glad to know what's the matter with
me. Somehow you always feel better when you know, and I'll trust to your
tea."

He meant what he said. He knew Henry too well to doubt him. Any assertion
of his inspired him with supreme confidence.

"Now, Paul," Henry resumed, "you keep house again, and I'll find where our
unknown friend got his drinking water."

He took the iron pot that he had noticed and went forth into the forest.
It was an instinctive matter with one bred in the wilderness like Henry