"Sorry-but, no."

"Sure, I thought you might be a doctor. They be great need of a doctor on this coast, sir. Sure, the nearest do be at Tilt Cove and 'tis 60 miles away. We do be too poor to send for him. But you isn't a doctor, you says? Is you sure, sir?"

He looked at me-wistfully, half doubtingly. He waited for me to answer.

"I thought you might be," he went on. "Perhaps you might know something about doctoring. No?"

"Nothing."

"I thought, now, that you might. 'Tis my little girl what's sick. Sure, none of us knows what do be the matter with she. Won't you come up and see she, sir? Perhaps you might do something-though-you isn't a doctor."

The little girl was lying on the floor-on a ragged quilt, in a corner. She was covered to her chin, and the covering quivered now and again as though she were shaken with cold. She was a fair child-a little girl of seven. Her eyes were deep blue, wide and fringed with long, heavy lashes. Her hair was flaxen, abundant and all curly and tangled.¹⁶ She was so winsome and lovely!

"I think she do be going to die soon," said her mother. "Tis queer. She do be all swelled in the legs. Sure, she can't stand. We been waiting for a doctor to come, and we thought perhaps you was one."

"How long have you waited?"

"Twas in April she took. She've been lying there ever since. 'Tis near August now, I'm thinking. We've been waiting-sort of expecting a doctor would come. There was one here about two years ago."

"Think they'll be one coming soon?" said the old man.

I took the little girl's hand. It was dry and hot. She looked in my face...