e cold snap which had set in on the day of David's call lasted and
deepened for a week. On Saturday evening, when Mrs. Tom came down for
a jug of cream, the mercury of the little thermometer thumping against
Josephine's porch was below zero. The gulf was no longer blue, but
white with ice. Everything outdoors was crackling and snapping. Inside
Josephine had kept roaring fires all through the house but the only
place really warm was the kitchen.

"Wrap your head up well, Ida," she said anxiously, when Mrs. Tom rose
to go. "You've got a bad cold."

"There's a cold going," said Mrs. Tom. "Everyone has it. David Hartley
was up at our place to-day barking terrible--a real churchyard cough,
as I told him. He never takes any care of himself. He said Zillah had
a bad cold, too. Won't she be cranky while it lasts?"

Josephine sat up late that night to keep fires on. She finally went to
bed in the little room opposite the big hall stove, and she slept at
once, and dreamed that the thumps of the thermometer flapping in the
wind against the wall outside grew louder and more insistent until
they woke her up. Some one was pounding on the porch door.

Josephine sprang out of bed and hurried on her wrapper and felt shoes.
She had no doubt that some of the Sentners were sick. They had a habit
of getting sick about that time of night. She hurried out and opened
the door, expecting to see hulking Tom Sentner, or perhaps Ida
herself, big-eyed and hysterical.

But David Hartley stood there, panting for breath. The clear moonlight
showed that he had no overcoat on, and he was coughing hard.
Josephine, before she spoke a word, clutched him by the arm and pulled
him in out of the wind.

"For pity's sake, David Hartley, what is the matter?"

"Zillah's awful sick," he gasped. "I came here because 'twas nearest.
Oh, won't you come over, Josephine? I've got to go for the doctor and
I can't leave her alone. She's suffering dreadful. I know you and her
ain't on good terms, but you'll come, won't you?"

"Of course I will," said Josephine sharply. "I'm not a barbarian, I
hope, to refuse to go to the help of a sick person, if 'twas my worst
enemy. I'll go in and get ready and you go straight to the hall stove
and warm yourself. There's a good fire in it yet. What on earth do you
mean, starting out on a bitter night like this without an overcoat or
even mittens, and you with a cold like that?"

"I never thought of them, I was so frightened," s