drifted
for a few moments, with a shy word now and then from David. And
presently a chance reference to the epidemic brought a new light into
the doctor's eyes, and a new earnestness into his voice.

"The fathers and mothers of the country are much alarmed for their
children," he said. "But there is far more need to be alarmed for
themselves. The Cold Plague attacks the strong rather than the weak. But
all the people, young and old, everywhere through the wilderness, are
almost frantic with terror. They fear infection from every newcomer.
There was a panic throughout this vicinity a few days ago, over the
landing of a flatboat, and the coming ashore of the unfortunates who
were on it. They were in a most pitiful plight. I hope never to see a
sadder sight than that poverty-stricken little family. But they were not
suffering from any disease more contagious than want; they were only
cold, wet, tired, hungry, and disheartened. The poor mother was sitting
on the damp sand near the water's edge, with her little ones around her,
when I found them. They were merely stopping to rest on their way from
another portion of the state, to the wild country on the other side of
the river."

"We saw them, too, poor things," said Ruth, quickly, with pity in her
soft eyes. "Father Orin and Toby came by to tell us, and David and I
went at once to do what we could. I can't forget how the mother looked.
She was young, but had such a sad, haggard face, with such a prominent
forehead, and such steady gray eyes. She held a strange looking little
child on her lap. She said that her name was Nancy Lincoln, and she
called the baby 'Abe.' He couldn't have been more than two years of age,
but he looked up at Father Orin, and from his face to ours, like some
troubled little old man."

"Yes, Father Orin and Toby were first to the rescue, as they always are.
I can't imagine when those two sleep, and I am sure they never rest when
awake."

And then, seeing her interest and sympathy, he went on to tell of three
little ones, orphaned by the plague, and left alone and utterly
helpless, in a cabin on the Wilderness Road. As he spoke, he remembered
with a pang of self-reproach, that Father Orin was with them now and
waiting for him. He rose suddenly, saying that he must go, but a slight
noise at the door caused him to pause and turn. It was William Pressley
coming in, and Ruth went forward to meet him, and introduced him to the
doctor, who sat down agai