she groaned.

"I'll defend you," said Nannie bravely.

"You! Oh, you atom! you molecule! you microbe! What can you do?"

"Be quiet. You are dead--do you hear? You're _dead_--dead as a
doornail; dead as a mummy--the mummy that walked the streets of Thebes
when Moses was a young man."

"Nannie!"

But Nannie did not hear, for she was running to meet the enemy, a bit
of a man who looked like a woodland sprite as he walked along the edge
of the ravine. In contrast with the big figure that lay prone upon the
divan, his size was really ridiculous. Had his pettiness been merely
external, that would not have mattered. Small men have been known to
tower as giants before us. Luther was called the little monk, and the
Corsican who altered the world's map was of still smaller proportions.

This little creature, however, was the reverse of Julia Ward Howe's
youthful daughter, who announced to an offending visitor that she was
"big inside," inasmuch as he was made on a small pattern, within as
well as without.

His petty face was all puckered up when Nannie encountered him, and
his rasping voice was at its most irritating pitch.

The moment he was within hailing distance he began his complaint,
heedless even of the courtesy of a greeting. He declared he was too
exhausted to take another step; that he had lost his wife, and he
asked if Nannie had seen her.

"Oh, Mr. Seymour! Hilda--Hilda--is--at my house--dead."

"Dead!" he fairly screamed.

"No, dying."

He started toward the house with the speed of the wind, but Nannie
stopped him.

"Don't!" she exclaimed. "Wait! Oh, I'm so excited I'm all mixed up!
She's had an awful spell, but she's better now; but you mustn't
startle her. Something's the matter with her heart. It was beating
like a sledge-hammer--an awful spell."

"Oh, if she dies, who'll take care of me? What shall I do?"

And he wrung his weak little hands.

"She won't die, I guess, if we take good care of her. Oh, it's awful
to have anything of this kind happen when you're out in the country
miles from a doctor."

"And I have been crazy enough to rent a cottage in the Adirondacks!"

Nannie looked at him solemnly and said:

"Oh!"

"I'll let it stand idle! Hilda might die up there! I never thought of
such a thing, she looks so well. And _I_ might be taken worse," he
gasped as one who suddenly realized a still more awful possibility.
"It would never do for us to go up there."

Nannie looked still more