“I am afraid you will have to excuse me,” he said.  “I can hardly do so now, for I must remain here and watch this child for some time.  You will please change all your clothing and have it hung out on the line, and you will gargle your throat with something I will send you.  I’ll call to-morrow and see your father, and give you the latest news of this little patient.”

“I didn’t know that you ever got so angry,” I said, now prompted by some spirit of mischief.  “You were in a dreadful temper when I came in.”

“Of course I was,” he readily admitted.  “But do you realize that this is the continuation of an old story.  This woman was in St. John’s last week, with the child, and I suppose they may have brought the disease from there.  Then the child became ill, the night before last, and she waits until this morning to bring it over to me.  When she reaches here she finds me away, but of course every woman in the place strolls in, with children in arms, to look on and give advice.  We may be in for a fine epidemic.  I shall have to send to St. John’s at once for a new supply of antitoxine.  I have only a little, and it is not very fresh.  Atkins is away with his schooner but he is expected to-morrow.  I hope he turns up.  Thank you ever so much, Miss Jelliffe.  Now please run away and follow my directions.”

So I left him and returned to the house and obeyed his orders.  We soon had supper, but when I told Daddy all about it, it was his turn to be angry.

“That’s all very well,” he said, “but after all he could have found some one else to help him and you had no business to disobey.  When the time comes for you to have babies of your own you can risk your life for them as much as you please, but you have no right to run into danger now.  You are my only child, and I have no one else to love since your poor mother died.  Please don’t do such things again.  Grant was perfectly right in trying to chase you away.  He should have taken a stick to you.”

Daddy’s ruffled tempers are never proof against my method of smoothing the raging seas.  My arm around his neck and a kiss will make him eat out of my hand, as Harry Lawrence puts it.  Naturally he succumbed again and in a minute was just as nice as ever.

We had only just finished our supper when Frenchy came in, leading his little boy by the hand.  He bore a letter which he gravely handed to Daddy who, as usual, had to look into three or four pockets before he found his glasses.  Then he read, and his face became serious, as it always does when he takes sudden decisions.

“Yves,” he said, “will you oblige me by going down to the cove at once and hailing the schooner.  I want my captain to come over here.”

Frenchy departed, after saluting as usual, his little fellow trotting beside him, and Daddy, without a word, handed the letter to me.  I read as follows: 

Dear Mr. Jelliffe: