Then he came in, closing the door behind him, and looked around the room, profoundly disgusted.  Mr. Barnett was again engaged in swabbing throats while Frenchy supported the patients and I held a bottle in whose neck a candle had been planted.  No one could pay much attention to him just then.  Poor old Dad!  He thinks that because the first emigrant in our family dates back a couple of hundred years or so we are something rather special in the way of human beings, and I know very well that he thought it most degrading for a daughter of his to be in such a miserable place.  Of course it is really very clean, Aunt Jennie, because Yves has been trained on a man o’ war, where the men spend nearly all of their time scrubbing things.  I have seen them so often at Newport, where they wash down the decks even when it is pouring cats and dogs.  The poor dear was rather red in the face, by which I recognized the fact that he was holding himself in for fear of an explosion.

But you know that there never was a better man than Dad, and he got all over this in a moment.  Of course he had come with the firm intention of explaining to the poor doctor what a fine mess he had made of things, but as soon as he saw that poor, pinched face on the pillow he changed entirely.  Quite a look of alarm came over his countenance, and he was certainly awfully sorry.  I have an idea that people who have never been very ill, and who have never seen many sick people possess a little egotism which it takes experience to drive out of them.  He had surely never thought that poor Dr. Grant would look so ill, and his bit of temper melted away at once.  He forced himself to take the hand that was nearest to him.

“I hope you are doing very well,” he said, with a queer accent of timidity that was really very foreign to his nature.

“They are taking splendid care of me,” answered Dr. Grant, with an effort that made him cough.

Daddy smiled at him, in a puzzled sort of way, and then turned to the child’s couch, gazing at it curiously.  Mr. Barnett stood at his side.

“He doesn’t look as ill as...”

He whispered this as he pointed to the bed where the doctor was lying.

“The boy is getting well,” answered the parson, in a low voice.  “He had a large dose of antitoxine and it is beginning to show its effect.”

“Ah?  Just so,” said Daddy, weakly.

Then he looked around the room again, quite helplessly.

“Is there anything that I could do?” he asked in a general way.

“Nothing, Daddy,” I said.  “Thank you ever so much for coming, but there is nothing you can do now.  I would go home if I were you.  I promise that I will return in time for supper.”

Then Daddy looked around again, as if all his habitual splendid assurance and decisiveness of manner had forsaken him.  After this he tiptoed his way to the door, outside of which Susie was waiting.  I followed him, because I knew he would feel better if I just put my hand on his arm for a moment and assured him that I was feeling perfectly well.