The thought begat pity for the coming little one,—­utmost commiseration that set Phoebe’s tears flowing anew,—­and when the miller returned he found his daughter stricken beyond measure and incoherent under her grief.  But Mr. Lyddon came back with a companion, and it was her husband, not her father, who dried Phoebe’s eyes and cheered her lonely heart.  Will, indeed, appeared and stood by her suddenly; and she heard his voice and cried a loud thanksgiving and clasped him close.

Yet no occasion for rejoicing had brought about this unexpected reappearance.  Indeed, more ill-fortune was responsible for it.  When Mr. Lyddon arrived at Mrs. Blanchard’s gate, he found both Will and Doctor Parsons standing there, then learnt the incident that had prevented his son-in-law’s proposed action.

Passing that way himself some hours earlier, Will had been suddenly surprised to see blue smoke rising from a chimney of the house.  It was a very considerable time before such event might reasonably be expected and a second look alarmed Blanchard’s heart, for on the little chimney-stack he knew each pot, and it was not the kitchen chimney but that of his mother’s bedroom which now sent evidence of a newly lighted fire into the morning.

In a second Will’s plans and purposes were swept away before this spectacle.  A fire in a bedroom represented a circumstance almost outside his experience.  At least it indicated sickness unto death.  He was in the house a moment later, for the latch lifted at his touch; and when he knocked at his mother’s door and cried his name, she bade him come in.

“What’s this?  What’s amiss with ’e, mother?  Doan’t say ’t is anything very bad.  I seed the smoke an’ my heart stood still.”

She smiled and assured him her illness was of no account.

“Ban’t nothing.  Just a shivering an’ stabbing in the chest.  My awn fulishness to be out listening to they bells in the frost.  But no call to fear.  I awnly axed my li’l servant to get me a cup o’ tea, an’ she comed an’ would light the fire, an’ would go for doctor, though theer ban’t no ’casion at all.”

“Every occasion, an’ the gal was right, an’ it shawed gude sense in such a dinky maid as her.  Nothin’ like taaking a cold in gude time.  Do ’e catch heat from the fire?”

Mrs. Blanchard’s eyes were dull, and her breathing a little disordered.  Will instantly began to bustle about.  He added fuel to the flame, set on a kettle, dragged blankets out of cupboards and piled them upon his mother.  Then he found a pillow-case, aired it until the thing scorched, inserted a pillow, and placed it beneath the patient’s head.  His subsequent step was to rummage dried marshmallows out of a drawer, concoct a sort of dismal brew, and inflict a cup upon the sick woman.  Doctor Parsons still tarrying, Will went out of doors, knocked a brick from the fowl-house wall, brought it in, made it nearly red hot, then wrapped it up in an old rug and applied it to his parent’s feet,—­all of which things the sick woman patiently endured.