“Beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am,” she said.  “Jist set down still fer a minnit.  I kin bile th’ kittle now an’ you’ll be havin’ a dish o’ tea.”

“Thank you ever so much,” I answered, as pleasantly as I could.  “I don’t want to give you so much trouble, and we are going back at once.”

The woman looked sorely disappointed.

“It’s awful good tea,” she pleaded.  “Th’ kind as comes in yeller packages, and they is sugar too.”

I turned to Dr. Grant.  A nearly imperceptible smile and nod from him showed me that I had better accept.  It was evident that the poor creature could not understand how any one could refuse tea, the only luxury of her hard life.

“I’ll change my mind, if you will let me,” I said.  “I really think I would enjoy it very much.”

Then she smiled again, and went up to the little stove, and I followed her.  Dr. Grant had gone out for a moment.

“Doctor un’ says Dick goes back wid’ un,” she said.  “He be th’ best man in the whole world, ma’am.  Says he’ll take pay when fishing gets better.  I mistrust he’ll be waitin’ a long spell.  It must be most twelve dollars, all the things he’ve brung.”

For a moment the prospect of this huge debt sobered her, and a tear ran down her cheek.

“And what about the doctor’s pay?” I asked.

“I doesn’t know,” she answered, helplessly.  “It’s sure a turrible world.”

From this I judge that the financial returns of Dr. Grant’s practice must be more than meager.  If I had had any money with me I would have given it to this poor creature, but I had no pockets and had never thought of the need of a vanity bag and purse for a visit to Will’s Island.

The woman looked out of the door, and saw that the doctor had gone down to the beach and was talking to the men, apparently engaged in making some arrangement at the bottom of the boat whereon to lay his patient.

“I doesn’t know what we’ll do,” she said again, hurriedly.  “But there never was a good man the like o’ he.  You ain’t got a man yet, has you, ma’am?”

“No, I’m a spinster yet,” I declared, smiling.

“He’s sure the best ever was.  Mebbe he might go to courtin’ you, ma’am, and what a happy woman ye’d be.”

I don’t think I blushed, Aunt Jennie, or showed any particular embarrassment.  I think I simply recognized a tribute of adoration rendered by the poor soul to one who, in her weary, red eyes, deserved nothing less than worship.

“I am quite sure he is a splendid man,” I answered, quietly.  “He is also taking care of my father, who broke his leg on the rocks, while salmon-fishing.”

“Oh!  I knows yer now,” said Mrs. Will.  “Sammy he told us how you come in that white steam schooner, wi’ brass shinin’ all over.”

“Yes,” I replied.

She began to stare at me, much interested.

“Sich a bonnie lass ye be!  I wisht he’d take a fancy ter ye!” she exclaimed.  “Ye’d sure never find a better man nowheres an’ ye look as good as he do.  I mistrust ye’d make an awful fine woman fer he.”