Crittenden's brow wrinkled in a pathetic effort to collect his thoughts;
but he gave it up and looked at his mother with an unspoken question on
his lips. His mother smiled merely, and Crittenden wondered why; but
somehow he was not particularly curious--he was not particularly
concerned about anything. In fact, he was getting weaker, and the
excitement at the station was bringing on the fever again. Half the time
his eyes were closed, and when he opened them on the swiftly passing
autumn fields, his gaze was listless. Once he muttered several times, as
though he were out of his head; and when they drove into the yard, his
face was turning blue at the lips and his teeth began to chatter. Close
behind came the doctor's buggy.

Crittenden climbed out slowly and slowly mounted the stiles. On the top
step he sat down, looking at the old homestead and the barn and the
stubble wheat-fields beyond, and at the servants coming from the
quarters to welcome him, while his mother stood watching and fondly
humouring him.

"Uncle Ephraim," he said to a respectful old white-haired man, "where's
my buggy?"

"Right where you left it, suh."

"Well, hitch up--" Raincrow, he was about to say, and then he remembered
that Raincrow was dead. "Have you got anything to drive?"

"Yessuh; we got Mr. Basil's little mare."

"Hitch her up to my buggy, then, right away. I want you to drive me."

The old darky looked puzzled, but Mrs. Crittenden, still with the idea
of humouring him, nodded for him to obey, and the old man turned toward
the stable.

"Yessuh--right away, suh."

"Where's Basil, mother?"

Phyllis turned her face quickly.

"He'll be here soon," said his mother, with a smile.

The doctor looked at his flushed face.

"Come on, my boy," he said, firmly. "You must get out of the sun."

Crittenden shook his head.

"Mother, have I ever done anything that you asked me not to do?"

"No, my son."

"Please don't make me begin now," he said, gently. "Is--is she at home?"

"Yes; but she is not very well. She has been ill a long while," she
added, but she did not tell him that Judith had been nursing at Tampa,
and that she had been sent home, stricken with fever.

The doctor had been counting his pulse, and now, with a grave look,
pulled a thermometer from his pocket; but Crittenden waved him away.

"Not yet, Doctor; not yet," he said, and stopped a moment to control his
voice before he went on.

"I know what's the matte