burst into tears before this broadside of sympathy, then she felt
stiff.

"You are as white as a sheet," said Mrs. White. "Who is burnin' eggs
out there?" She pointed to the kitchen.

"Father."

"Lord! Who's up-stairs?"

"Miss Bell and the doctors. They've sent for Aunt Maria, but she
can't come before afternoon."

Mrs. White fastened a button on her waist. "Well, I'll stay till
then," said she. "Lillian can get along all right." Lillian was Mrs.
White's eighteen-year-old daughter.

Mrs. White opened the kitchen door. "How is she?" she said in a
hushed voice to Harry Edgham, frantically stirring the burned eggs,
which sent up a monstrous smoke and smell. As she spoke, she went
over to him, took the frying-pan out of his hands, and carried it
over to the sink.

"She is a very sick woman," replied Harry Edgham, looking at Mrs.
White with a measure of gratitude.

"You've got Dr. Williams and Miss Bell, Maria says?"

"Yes."