“Take this to the telegraph office,” was Mrs. Dobson’s next order, after she had been a few moments in the library, and Hannah obeyed, reading as she ran: 

     “Davenport, August—. 
     “To Mrs. James Markham, Olney: 

     “There’s a strange woman sick here.  Please come
     home.  “Elinor Dobson.”

The way was open for the dispatch, and in less than half an hour the operator at Olney was writing out the message which would take Melinda back to Davenport as fast as steam could carry her.

CHAPTER XXXVII

AT HOME

Mrs. James Markham had spent a few weeks with a party of Davenport friends in St. Paul and vicinity, but she was now at home in Olney with her mother, whom she helped with the ironing that morning, showing a quickness and dexterity in the doing up of Tim’s shirts and best table linen which proved that, although a “mighty fine lady,” as some of the Olneyites termed her, she had neither forgotten nor was above working in the kitchen when the occasion required.  The day’s ironing was over now, and refreshed with a bath and a half-hour’s sleep after it, she sat under the shadow of the tall trees, arrayed in her white marseilles, which, being gored, made her look, as unsophisticated Andy thought, most too slim and flat.  Andy himself was over at the Joneses that afternoon, and, down upon all fours, was playing bear with baby Ethelyn, who shouted and screamed with delight at the antics of her childish uncle.  Mrs. James was not contemplating a return to Davenport for three or four weeks; indeed, ever since the letter received from Clifton with regard to Richard’s sickness, she had been seriously meditating a flying visit to the invalid, who she knew would be glad to see her.  It must be very desolate for him there alone, she said; and then her thoughts went after the wanderer whom they had long since ceased to talk about, much less than to expect back again.  Melinda was sadly thinking of her, and speculating as to what her fate had been, when down the road from the village came the little messenger boy, who always made one’s heart beat so fast when he handed out his missive.  He had one now, and he brought it to Melinda, who, thinking of her husband, gone to Denver City, felt a thrill of fear lest something had befallen him.  But no; the dispatch came from Davenport, from Mrs. Dobson herself, and read that a strange woman lay very sick in the house.

“A strange woman,” that was all, but it made Melinda’s heart leap up into her throat at the bare possibility as to who the strange woman might be.  Andy was standing by her now reading the message, and Melinda knew by the flush upon his face, and the drops of perspiration which started out so suddenly around his mouth, that he, too, shared her suspicions.  But not a word was spoken by either upon the subject agitating them so powerfully.  Melinda only said, “I must go home at once—­in the next train if possible,” while Andy rejoined, “I am going with you.”