I interrupted him and bade him enter.

“Pardon,” he said, “please pardon.  Eet is de leetle bye.  All day I wait.  I tink heem docteur maybe come back.  But heem no come.  Maybe you know about leetle byes very seek.  You help docteur once.”

“I am afraid I know very little, my poor Yves,” I cried, shaking my head.

“What is the matter with him, Frenchy?” asked Daddy.

“Me not know, monsieur,” he answered.  “Heem now cry out heem want la belle dame.  Heem lofe de yong lady.  Seek all day, de poor leetle bye, an’ lie down and cry so moch!  An’ now heem terreeble red in ze face, an’ so hot, an’ speak fonny.  An’ heem don’ want eat noding, noding at all.  So I know mademoiselle she help fix heem leetle girl, de oder day, an’ me tink maybe she tell me what I do.  All de oder womans dey know noding at all, an’ I hear Docteur say oder day zey all big fool.  Please you come, mademoiselle.”

“I have to go, Daddy,” I cried, and caught up my woollen cap and wrapped myself up in my waterproof.

“I wish you wouldn’t, daughter,” said poor Daddy.  “I am sure it must be something catching.”

“I’m so sorry, Daddy, but I just have to go.  I’ll try to be back soon.”

“But why doesn’t he go for Mrs. Barnett?” asked Dad.  “She knows all about sick babies.”

“Oh!  I don’t want her to be sent for.  She has those dear little ones of her own,” I said.

Then I kissed him quickly and ran out into the darkness before he could object any further.  The wind just tore at me, and I had to seize Frenchy’s arm as we splashed through the puddles, with heads bent low, leaning against the storm.

And so we reached the poor little shack Yves calls his home.  On the floor he had placed some pans that caught some of the drippings from the leaky roof, and a piece of sail-cloth was stretched upon a homemade pallet covered with an old caribou hide, upon which the poor little fellow was lying.  Unable to bear any heat he had cast away all his coverings, in the fever that possessed him, and when I heard him moan and knelt beside him he stretched out his arms to me, and his pleading face grew sweet with hope.

“Heem too young to be widout moder ven seek,” said Frenchy, apologetically.  “Heem moder is dead.”

I bathed the hot little head, and the touch of my hand made the poor wee thing more contented.  After this I sent Frenchy to our house for some alcohol, with which I washed the boy, who finally fell into a restless sleep.

Frenchy had placed his only chair near the pallet for me, and after a while he drew up a big pail, on the bottom of which he sat, with his elbows upon his knees and his jaws in the palm of his hands, staring at the child.  One could see that an immense fear was upon the man, but that my presence was of some comfort to him.  It really looks as if men in trouble always seek help from women, and this poor fellow was now leaning upon me, just as I had leaned on his big arm when we had made our way through the storm.  Something was tearing away at his heart-strings, and after a time the pain of it, I think, opened the fount of his memories, as if an irresistible desire had come upon him for the balm there is in pouring them out.