"Why, Jap, what are you doing there?" as her son came around one of the
rear corners of the little building.

"I'm just--waiting. Say, mother," tremulously, "will it--kill her?"

"Kill her? Who, Sairay? No, indeed. She's lots better now. Gracious! you
look sick yourself, child!"

"I'll never do such a thing again, mother,--never! I felt as if I'd
stabbed her to the heart. Do--do you s'pose it'll make her--turn agin
me?"

"Gracious! No; what an idee! Why, you've worked yourself into a regular
chill, I declare. Go home, and tell Hannah to fix you up a good stiff
dose of Jamaica ginger right away. Well, I never!"

"Then you think she's coming out of it all right?"

"I think she's enough sight better'n you'll be, if you don't go and do
what I tell you this minute; now hustle!" and Jasper, knowing his
mother's decisive ways, walked away without more ado.

But not home; not to Hannah's ministering care and the Jamaica ginger,
but to a little cove by the sea where, with his body thrown flat on the
rocks, and his face buried in his hands, he wept like a child himself,
for pure sympathy with that orphaned girl who was so dear to him.