were secrets extorted from the squaws much more efficacious than
those of their medicine men. The little hand was burning hot; yes, it
was fever. There had been scurvy and dysentery, but she was a little
non-plussed by the fever. And the Sieur would not be here until
to-morrow; the doctor, no one knew when.

She took out her chest of simples, a quaintly-made birchen-bark
receptacle. They had been carefully labelled by the doctor. Yes, here
was "fever"--here another. Which to take puzzled her.

"I might try first one and then the other," she ruminated. "I would get
the good of both. And they might not mix well."

She boiled some water and poured it over the herbs. It diffused a
bitter, but not unpleasant flavor. Then she put it out of doors to cool.

Rose was sleeping heavily, but her eyes were half open and it startled
Mere Dubray.

"A child is a great responsibility," she moaned to herself. "If the
Sieur were only here, or the doctor!" She woke her presently and
administered the potion. But it brought on a desperate sickness.

"Perhaps I had better try the other." She took the hot, limp hand, the
cheeks were burning, but great drops of perspiration stood out on the
forehead. She twisted the soft hair in a knot and struck one of her
highly-prized pins through it, then she thought a night-cap would be
better. Only they would be a world too large for the child. But she
succeeded in pinning it to the right shape, though she grudged the two
pins. They were a great rarity in those days, and if one was lost hours
were spent hunting it up.

The second dose fared better. There was nothing to do but let the child
sleep. She busied herself about the few household cares, studied the
weather and the signs of spring. Oh, was that a bird! Surely he was
early with his song. The river went rushing on joyously, leaping,
foaming as if glad to be unchained. The air had softened marvellously.
Ah, why should one be ill when spring had come!

The kindly Mere repeated her dose. Towards night the fever seemed to
abate, but the child was desperately restless and the worthy woman much
troubled. Yet what was the child to her? to any one? And death was sure
to come sometime. She would be spared much trouble. She would also lose
much happiness. But was there any great share of it in this new world?

Rose was no better the next day. The nausea returned and clearly she was
out of her head. But late this afternoon the Sieur and the young gues