er father's room, to
make sure that he was still sleeping.

There was a good fire in the kitchen, and the kettle was boiling
again. Mary had not had her cup of tea yet, although she had made
one for her father. But she had forgotten all about that
--forgotten, indeed, that she had taken no food, except two
hard biscuits, since her early breakfast. It seemed such a long
time before the man came back. His comrade was still busy out at
the rear of the house, rubbing, pounding, and punching at the
mud-stained clothes to get them clean, and as he worked he whistled
softly over and over again two or three bars of "The Maple Leaf for
Ever". For years afterwards Mary never heard the song without
recalling that afternoon, with its keen anxiety, the glorious
sunshine, and the steamy, soapy atmosphere of the little kitchen.

From front door to back door she paced, always treading softly
through fear of disturbing the sleeper in the room beyond; then
paced from back door to front door again, and paused to wait for
the messenger whose coming was so delayed. Presently she heard the
sound of oars, then a boat grounded, and a moment later the man
came up the path, carefully carrying something in a basket which he
presented to Mary.

"It is a bottle of ginger posset which Mrs. Burton has sent over
for Mr. Selincourt. She says you must give him a teacupful as soon
as he wakes, and you ought to make him swallow it even if he
objects, as there is quinine in it, which may ward off swamp
fever," the man said, with the air of one repeating a lesson.

"Mrs. Burton is very kind," said Mary, as she took basket and
bottle. "But did you see Miss Radford, and why should there be
danger of swamp fever for my father?"

"Miss Radford had got a party of Indians in the store that were
taking all her time to manage," replied the man. "Indeed, I had to
chip in and help her a bit myself, for while she showed one lot
scarlet flannel and coloured calicoes, the other lot were trying to
help themselves to beans, tobacco, and that sort of thing. But by
the time I had punched the heads of three men, and slapped two
squaws in the face, they seemed to sort of understand that good
manners paid best, and acted according; then matters began to move
quicker."

Mary clasped her hands in an agony of impatience. Would the man
ever tell her, or would she be compelled to shake the information
out of him?

"Did Miss Radford tell you what had happened?"