“What will you do with me, Jacob?” she asked.

“We’ll think about that in the morning,” said I.

“Maybe you can bury me in the morning,” she said after a while.  “Oh, Jake, I’m scared, I’m scared.  My trouble is comin’ on!  My time is up, Jake.  Oh, what shall I do!  What shall I do?”

I went out and sat on the stoop and thought about this.  Finally I made up my mind what she really meant by “her trouble,” and I went back to her side.  I found her moaning louder and more agonizingly, now:  and in my turn I had my moment of panic.

“Rowena,” I said, “I’m goin’ out to do something that has to be done.  Will you stay here, and not move out of this room till I come back?”

“I’ll have to,” she said.  “I guess I’ve walked my last.”

So I went out and saddled the fresh horse, and started through that fiery night for Monterey Centre.  The fire had burned clear past the town, and when I got there I saw what was left of one or two barns or houses which had caught fire from the burning prairie, still blazing in heaps of embers.  The village had had a narrower escape from the rain of ashes and sparks which had swept to the very edges of the little cluster of dwellings.  I rode to Doctor Bliven’s drug store, climbed the outside stairway which led to his living-room above, and knocked.  Mrs. Bliven came to the door.  I explained that I wanted the doctor at once to come out to my farm.

“He’s not here,” said she.  “He is dressing some burns from the fire; but he must be nearly through.  I’ll go after him.”

I refused to go in and sit until she came back, but stood at the foot of the stair on the sidewalk.  The time of waiting seemed long, but I suppose he came at once.

“Who’s sick, Jake?” he asked.

“A girl,” I said.  “A woman.”

“At your house?” asked he.  “What is it?”

“It’s Rowena Fewkes,” said I.

“I thought they had gone to Colorado,” said the doctor.

“They said they were leaving her behind,” said Mrs. Bliven.  “They said....  Do you say she’s at your house?  Who’s with her?”

“No one,” said I.  “She’s alone.  Hurry, Doctor:  she needs you bad.”

“Just a minute,” said he.  “What seems to be the matter?  Is she very bad?”

“It’s a confinement case,” said I. I had been thinking of the proper word all the way.

“And she alone!” exclaimed Mrs. Bliven.  “Hurry, Doctor!  I’ll get your instruments and medicine-case, and you can hitch up.  You stay here, Jake.  I want to speak to you.”

She ran up-stairs, and down again in a few seconds, with the cases, and wearing her bonnet and cloak.  I could hear the doctor running his buggy out of the shed, and speaking to his horses.  She set the cases down on the sidewalk, came up to me, put her hand on my arm and spoke.

“Jake,” said she, “are you and Rowena married?”

“Us married!” I exclaimed.  “Why, no!”