e how he is to-morrow morning. If
he is no better you'll need help. We'll see about that when I call."

A few more words and he was gone, racing down the long stairway, while
Stephen lingered behind with an air of uncertainty.

"I--suppose I can be of no use! Pat ought to be quiet, and I'm no hand
at poulticing. You are sure you can manage alone?"

Pixie nodded, struggling with a lump in her throat. _Why_ wouldn't he
stay? Why did he so obviously not _want_ to stay?

"I can. It will be all right. Moffatt will help me."

"And to-morrow ... to-morrow you must get a nurse!"

"No!" cried Pixie with sudden energy, "I will not. I'll have no
stranger. I'll have Bridgie." Her heart swelled at the sound of the
beloved name; she felt a helpless longing to cast herself on that
faithful breast. "Bridgie must come. There's no room for a nurse in
this tiny place. Bridgie could share my room."

"We'll telegraph for her," Glynn said. "I will come round after
breakfast, and if Pat is not quite himself, I'll telegraph at once. She
could be with you by tea-time."

He was kind and considerate. He was thoughtful for her comfort, ready
to help by deed as well as word. Pixie could not explain to herself
wherein lay the want, but the reality of it gnawed at her heart, and
darkened still further the hours of that long, anxious night.

Despite poultices, despite medicine, there was no doubt even to Pixie's
inexperienced eyes that Pat was worse the next morning. His breathing
was heavier, he was hotter, more restless. Without waiting for Stephen
she sent the little maid to telephone to the doctor, and through the
same medium dispatched a summoning wire to Bridgie in her northern home.

The succeeding hours were filled with a nightmare-like struggle against
odds which palpably increased with every hour. Stephen came in and out,
turned himself into a messenger to obtain everything that was needed,
sent round a hamper of cooked dainties which would provide the small
household for days to come, drove to the station to meet Bridgie and
bring her to the flat, and oh! the joy, the relief, the blessed
consciousness of help, which came to nurse and patient alike at the
sight of that sweet, fair face! In one minute Bridgie had shed her hat
and coat, in the second moment she was scorching herself by the fire, to
remove all trace of chill before she approached the bedside, in the
third she was sitting beside it--calm, sweet, c