dead lad he almost carried in his arms, and
so, with frequent pauses for rest and encouragement, the day wore past,
until at last on the brow of Watson's Hill, Browne, his own strength all
but spent, cried tremulously,--

"Now God be praised! here is the harbor at our feet, yonder is the
Mayflower, below is the village, and but a few moments more will bring
thee, John, to a bed and Surgeon Fuller's care, and me to a fire and
some boiling schnapps."

"God indeed be praised!" murmured Goodman rousing himself for the final
effort; and so it came to pass that just at sunset the two crossed the
brook and came hobbling down The Street amid a clamorous and joyful
crowd of friends who lifted Goodman from his feet, nor paused until they
brought them both into the house where abode Carver and also Fuller, the
shrewd and crabbed physician and philanthropist. Here Goodman was laid
upon a bed, his shoes cut from his feet, and in a few moments the
governor on one side and the doctor on the other were vigorously rubbing
the frozen limbs with alcohol.

"Shall I lose my feet, Doctor?" asked the patient feebly.

"Lose them!" cried the doctor indignantly. "Nay! what use would a
footless man be to the Adventurers who sent thee out? 'T were but a
knave's trick for thee to shed thy feet first thing, and I'll see to it
thou dost not."

"And that's a comfortable saying, Master Fuller," said Browne standing
anxiously by.

"Thou here, Peter Browne!" exclaimed the doctor glancing up under his
shaggy brows. "What art doing here, blockhead? Get thee into bed beside
a good fire, and bid Hopkins mix thee a posset such as he would have for
himself. Be off, I say!"

CHAPTER XI.

THE COLONISTS OF COLE'S HILL.

The next day both Carver and Bradford were forced to succumb under the
epidemic already raging among the colonists, and in another fortnight
the hospital and Common house were crowded to their utmost capacity with
the beds of the ill and dying. The terrible colds taken in the various
explorations, the vile food and bad air of the brig, with the want of
ordinary comforts on shore, were at last bearing their fruit in a
combination of scurvy, rheumatism, and typhoid fever of a malignant
type. On board ship matters were even worse than on shore, and Jones,
who would willingly have abandoned the settlers as soon as they were
debarked, found himself, perforce, a sharer in their distress through
the illness and death of his crew, and