durin' the night."

He could see her better now, for the candle was flaring bravely. She was
little and old. Her thin, white hair straggled pitifully about her
small, wrinkled face, her eyes looked as if they had been burned almost
out by suffering. He saw she was drawn and quivering with pain, even now
as she tried to speak cheerfully. A something rebellious in him yielded
to the nerve of the little old woman, and he put down his impatience.
Sure he would get her the water!

She explained that the hydrant was down on the street. He took the
doubtful-looking pitcher and stumbled out upon those narrow, rickety
stairs again.

Way down to the street and back in that inky blackness! "Gosh! Thunder!
The deuce!" (He didn't allow himself any stronger words these days.)
Was this the kind of thing one was up against when one majored in
sociology?

"I be'n thinkin'," said the old lady, quaveringly, when he stumbled,
blinking, back into the room again with the water, "ef you wouldn't mind
jest stirrin' up the fire an' makin' me a sup o' tea it would be real
heartenin'. I 'ain't et nothin' all day 'cause the pain was so bad, but
I think it'll ease up when I git a dose of the medicine, and p'r'aps I
might eat a bite."

Courtland was appalled, but he went vigorously to work at that fire,
although he had never laid eyes on anything so primitive as that stove
in all his life. Presently, by using common sense, he had the thing
going and a forlorn little kettle steaming away cheerfully.