er a cradle. She fell silent as Josephine and
Philip entered, and they bent over the little flushed face on the
pillow. Its breath came tightly, gaspingly, and Josephine clutched
Philip's hand, and her voice broke in a sob.

"Feel, Philip--its little face--the fever--"

"You must call your mother and father," he said after a moment. "Why
haven't you done this before, Josephine?"

"The fever came on suddenly--within the last half hour," she whispered
tensely. "And I wanted you to tell me what to do, Philip. Shall I call
them--now?"

He nodded.

"Yes."

In an instant she was out of the room. A few moments later she
returned, followed by Adare and his wife. Philip was startled by the
look that came into Miriam's face as she fell on her knees beside the
cradle. She was ghastly white. Dumbly Adare stood and gazed down on the
little human mite he had grown to worship. And then there came through
his beard a great broken breath that was half a sob.

Josephine lay her cheek against his arm for a moment, and said:

"You and Philip go to breakfast, Mon Pere. I am going to give the baby
some of the medicine the Churchill doctor left with me. I was
frightened at first. But I'm not now. Mother and I will have him out of
the fever shortly."

Philip caught her glance, and took Adare by the arm. Alone they went
into the breakfast-room. Adare laughed uneasily as he seated himself
opposite Philip.

"I don't like to see the little beggar like that," he said, taking to
shake off his own and Philip's fears with a smile. "It was Mignonne who
scared me--her face. She has nursed so many sick babies that it
frightened me to see her so white. I thought he might be--dying."

"Cutting teeth, mebby," volunteered Philip.

"Too young," replied Adare.

"Or a touch of indigestion, That brings fever."

"Whatever it is, Josephine will soon have him kicking and pulling my
thumb again," said Adare with confidence. "Did she ever tell you about
the little Indian baby she found in a tepee?"

"No."

"It was in the dead of winter. Mignonne was out with her dogs, ten
miles to the south. Captain scented the thing--the Indian tepee. It was
abandoned--banked high with snow--and over it was the smallpox signal.
She was about to go on, but Captain made her go to the flap of the
tepee. The beast knew, I guess. And Josephine--my God, I wouldn't have
let her do it for ten years of my life! There had been smallpox in that
tent; the smell of it was s