e door to admit the air and
sunshine. On the bed in one corner of the room lay the form of a woman,
and it took all the courage she possessed for the girl to go to her. It
was old Rachel, but her features were so swollen and disfigured by the
disease as to be almost unrecognizable. She seemed in a sort of stupor
for she lay nearly motionless.

A shudder of loathing shook Bee from head to foot, and she was seized by
a strong desire to run away. Obeying the impulse she reached the door,
but her flight was arrested by a moan from the negress, and an almost
incoherent muttering of, "Water! Water!"

"She is thirsty," whispered Bee, pausing on the threshold. "I wonder
where Tillie is!"

For, strange to say, there was no one in the cabin but old Rachel.

"I must get the water myself," said Bee aloud. "It's a shame to leave
that poor old woman alone!"

She ran to the well and drew a bucketful of clear cold water, which she
carried to the cabin. Filling a cup she approached the bed upon which
Rachel lay. Then she stopped.

"I can't do it," she cried. "I can't touch her."

Again the moan came from the poor parched lips: "Water! Water!"

"I must," decided the girl suppressing the repugnance that swept over
her. "What if I were old and sick? I should want to be taken care of. I
may look just as bad if I have the small pox. And she cared for my
mother."

Resolutely she slipped her arm under Rachel's neck, thus lifting her
head, and held the water to her lips. As she did so all her fear and
loathing left her, and in their place came an infinite pity and
tenderness. The sick woman turned from the cup at first, but after a
little had passed her lips, she quaffed the rest eagerly and sank back
on her pillow with a sigh of content.

"I'll just have to stay with her," mused Bee replacing the cup on the
table, and seating herself by the bed. "She needs some one here to look
after her, and I'll have to do it. How queer it is that nobody is here!"

The long hot afternoon wore away. The woman's thirst was excessive, and
Bee was kept busy ministering to it. As the night approached she sought
for a lamp, but could find nothing but a tallow candle with a tin
holder.

"It will be awfully dim," she soliloquized, "but it is much better than
to sit in the dark. There will be enough light to give her water when
she wants it. I wish I knew what else to do for the poor thing."

It was not a pleasant position for a girl to be in, and, as