I won’t never go back to ’Niram’s house!  I’ll lie in the ditch by the roadside till the poor-master comes to git me—­and I’ll tell everybody that it’s because my own twin sister, with a house and a farm and money in the bank, turned me out to starve—­” A fearful spasm cut her short.  She lay twisted and limp, the whites of her eyes showing between the lids.

“Good God, she’s gone!” cried Paul, running to the bed.

I was aware that the woman in the doorway had relaxed her frozen immobility and was between Paul and me as we rubbed the thin, icy hands and forced brandy between the flaccid lips.  We all three thought her dead or dying, and labored over her with the frightened thankfulness for one another’s living presence which always marks that dreadful moment.  But even as we fanned and rubbed, and cried out to one another to open the windows and to bring water, the blue lips moved to a ghostly whisper:  “Em, listen—­” The old woman went back to the nickname of their common youth.  “Em—­your Ev’leen Ann—­tried to drown herself—­in the Mill Brook last night ...  That’s what decided me—­to—­” And then we were plunged into another desperate struggle with Death for the possession of the battered old habitation of the dauntless soul before us.

“Isn’t there any hot water in the house?” cried Paul, and “Yes, yes; a tea-kettle on the stove!” answered the woman who labored with us.  Paul, divining that she meant the kitchen, fled down-stairs.  I stole a look at Emma Hulett’s face as she bent over the sister she had not seen in thirty years, and I knew that Mrs. Purdon’s battle was won.  It even seemed that she had won another skirmish in her never-ending war with death, for a little warmth began to come back into her hands.

When Paul returned with the tea-kettle, and a hot-water bottle had been filled, the owner of the house straightened herself, assumed her rightful position as mistress of the situation, and began to issue commands.  “You git right in the automobile, and go git the doctor,” she told Paul.  “That’ll be the quickest.  She’s better now, and your wife and I can keep her goin’ till the doctor gits here.”

As Paul left the room she snatched something white from a bureau-drawer, stripped the worn, patched old cotton nightgown from the skeleton-like body, and, handling the invalid with a strong, sure touch, slipped on a soft, woolly outing-flannel wrapper with a curious trimming of zigzag braid down the front.  Mrs. Purdon opened her eyes very slightly, but shut them again at her sister’s quick command, “You lay still, Em’line, and drink some of this brandy.”  She obeyed without comment, but after a pause she opened her eyes again and looked down at the new garment which clad her.  She had that moment turned back from the door of death, but her first breath was used to set the scene for a return to a decent decorum.

“You’re still a great hand for rick-rack work, Em, I see,” she murmured in a faint whisper.  “Do you remember how surprised Aunt Su was when you made up a pattern?”