ill
come back in the morning."

In the morning the doctor's face was yet more grave. He examined the
patient carefully. Then he turned to Jean, who had acted as nurse.

"I thought so," said he; "you must all be vaccinated immediately. There
is still time, I hope. But what to do with this gentleman, God knows. We
can't send him back to the town. He has the small-pox."

That was a pretty prelude to a wedding festival. They were all at their
wit's end. While the doctor scratched their arms, they discussed the
situation, excitedly and with desperation. Jean was the first to stop
chattering and begin to think.

"There is that old cabane of Poulin's up the road. It is empty these
three years. But there is a good spring of water. One could patch the
roof at one end and put up a stove."

"Good!" said the doctor. "But some one to take care of him? It will be a
long job, and a bad one."

"I am going to do that," said Jean; "it is my place. This gentleman
cannot be left to die in the road. Le bon Dieu did not send him here for
that. The head of the family"--here he stopped a moment and looked at
Pierre, who was silent--"must take the heavy end of the job, and I am
ready for it."

"Good!" said the doctor again. But Alma was crying in the corner of the
room.

Four weeks, five weeks, six weeks the vigil in the cabane lasted. The
last patches of snow disappeared from the fields one night, as if winter
had picked up its rags and vanished. The willows along the brook turned
yellow; the grass greened around the spring. Scarlet buds flamed on the
swamp maples. A tender mist of foliage spread over the woodlands. The
chokecherries burst into a glory of white blossoms. The bluebirds came
back, fluting love-songs; and the robins, carolling ballads of joy; and
the blackbirds, creaking merrily.

The priest came once and saw the sick man, but everything was going
well. It was not necessary to run any extra risks. Every week after that
he came and leaned on the fence, talking with Jean in the doorway. When
he went away he always lifted three fingers--so--you know the sign? It
is a very pleasant one, and it did Jean's heart good.

Pierre kept the cabane well supplied with provisions, leaving them just
inside of the gate. But with the milk it was necessary to be a little
careful; so the can was kept in a place by itself, under the out-of-door
oven, in the shade. And beside this can Jean would find, every day,
something particular,--a b