ce Committee
stood, much depressed, before their superior officer. He, being a just
man, flushed red with a noble rage.

"Where is he? Where is Zerviah Hope? The man should be sent for. He
should receive the thanks of the committee. He should receive the
acknowledgments of the city. And we've set on him like detectives!
hunted him down! Zounds! The city is disgraced. Find him for me!"

"We have already done our best," replied the sub-committee, sadly.
"We have searched for the man. He cannot be found."

"Where is the woman-doctor?" persisted the excited chief. "She
recommended the fellow. She'd be apt to know. Can't some of you find
her?"

At this moment, young Dr. Frank looked haggardly into the Relief
Office.

"I am taking her cases," he said. "She is down with the fever."

* * * * *

It was the morning after his last pay-day--Sunday morning, the first
in October; a dry, deadly, glittering day. Zerviah had been to his
attic to rest and bathe; he had been there some hours since sunrise,
in the old place by the window, and watched the red sun kindle, and
watched the dead-carts slink away into the color, and kneeled and
prayed for frost. Now, being strengthened in mind and spirit, he was
descending to his Sabbath's work, when a message met him at the door.
The messenger was a negro boy, who thrust a slip of paper into his
hand, and, seeming to be seized with superstitious fright, ran rapidly
up the street and disappeared.

The message was a triumphal result of the education of the freedmen's
evening school, and succinctly said:

"ive Gut IT. Nobuddy Wunt Nuss me. Norr no Docter nEther.

"P. S. Joopiter the Durn hee sed he'd kerry This i dont
Serpose youd kum. SCIP."

The sun went down that night as red as it had risen. There were no
clouds. There was no wind. There was no frost. The hot dust curdled in
the shadow that coiled beneath the stark palmetto. That palmetto
always looked like a corpse, though there was life in it yet. Zerviah
came to the door of Scip's hovel for air, and looked at the thing. It
seemed like something that ought to be buried. There were no other
trees. The everglades were miles away. The sand and the scant, starved
grass stretched all around. Scip's hut stood quite by itself. No one
passed by. Often no one passed for a week, or even more. Zerviah
looked from the door of the hut to the little city. The red light lay
between him and it,