old, dark-brown, and
prodigiously wrinkled individual, who held up a candle and looked at
Hannah with the most impassive eyes she had ever seen--like little pools
of black water unstirred by any wind.

Hannah's breath came fast.

"Is this the Indian herb-doctor?" she asked.

"Aye," he answered.

When you remember that Hannah was only a little girl, and that she thought
she had come to the end of a nightmare of responsibility, it will not
surprise you to learn that she now began to cry a little, out of
agitation.

"I have brought Ann Mary," she said, "my sister, to be cured. She is in a
decline. Will you cure her?"

The herb-doctor showed no surprise. He set the candle down on the shelf,
and went out in the bright starlight to where Ann Mary clung to Remember
Williams's waist. When he put up his brown old hands to her, she slid down
into them and upon the ground. He still held one wrist, and this he
continued to do for some moments, looking at the white, drooping girl
without moving a muscle of his solemn old face. Then he turned to Hannah,
who had stopped crying and was holding her breath in suspense.

"Aye," he said.

At this Hannah caught her sister around the neck, sobbing joyfully:

"He will cure you, Ann Mary; he will cure you!" Then she asked the doctor:
"And how long will it take? We can stay but a few days, for the boy and
the horses must get back soon."

The herb-doctor considered for a moment.

"It is now the end of June month. By the end of September month she will
be cured--not before."

I think I know that that was a black moment for Hannah. She said nothing
at all, but the sick girl fell to weeping.

"But, Master Doctor, we cannot stay--we cannot! And now, after all, I
shall not be cured!"

Hannah could not bear to see her sweet Ann Mary in tears, and she cried
out stoutly:

"Yes, you shall, too! Remember can take the horses back without us, and
tell our father. Somehow--I can earn--oh, we _must_!" Then a new fear
sprang into her heart. "Oh, sir," she cried to the doctor, "is it dear,
your cure? Must one have much silver for it?"

The stolid little old gnome did not look toward her or change his position
as he said:

"It costs time--no silver," He moved toward the house. "Go to the
minister's to-night," he called from his doorstep. "It is the house of
brick." Just before he closed his door he added: "Come here to-morrow
morning."

When they reached the great brick house, the oth