othes. He took another stool by his mate's side at the fire,
and had another fit of coughing. When it was over, Uncle Abe remarked
"That's a regular church-yarder yer got, young feller."

The young fellow, too exhausted to speak, even had he intended doing
so, turned his head in a quick, half-terrified way and gave it two short
jerky nods.

The settler had brought a bottle out--it was gin they kept for medicine.
They gave him some hot, and he took it in his sudden, frightened,
half-animal way, like a dog that was used to ill-usage.

"He ought to be in the hospital," said the mother.

"He ought to be in bed right now at once," snapped the sister. "Couldn't
you stay till morning, or at least till the rain clears up?" she said
to the elder man. "No one ain't likely to come near this place in this
weather."

"If we did he'd stand a good chance to get both hospital and a bed
pretty soon, and for a long stretch, too," said the dark man grimly.
"No, thank you all the same, miss--and missus--I'll get him fixed up all
right and safe before morning."

The father came into the end room with a couple of small feed boxes and
both boys tumbled under the blankets. The father emptied some chaff,
from a bag in the corner, into the boxes, and then dished some corn from
another bag into the chaff and mixed it well with his hands. Then he
went out with the boxes under his arms, and the boys got up again.

The mother had brought two chairs from the front room (I remember the
kind well: black painted hardwood that were always coming to pieces and
with apples painted on the backs). She stood them with their backs to
the fire and, taking up the young man's wet clothes, which the settler
had brought out under his arm and thrown on a stool, arranged them
over the backs of chairs and the stool to dry. He lost some of his
nervousness or seared manner under the influence of the gin, and
answered one or two questions with reference to his complaint.

The baby was in the cradle asleep. The sister drew boiling water from
the old-fashioned fountain over one side of the fire and made coffee.
The mother laid the coarse brownish cloth and set out the camp-oven
bread, salt beef, tin plates, and pintpots. This was always called
"setting the table" in the bush. "You'd better have it by the fire,"
said the bush-wife to the dark man.

"Thank you, missus," he said, as he moved to a bench by the table, "but
it's plenty warm enough here. Come on, Jack."