“And as for milk—­”

“There you go again,—­milk.  Worse and worse.  Yesterday I had milk toast, and milk custard, and fresh milk, and buttermilk.  And here you come at me again first thing to-day.  Milk!”

“Seven whole quarts have arrived this morning,—­bless their darling old hearts.”

“The cows?”

“The parishioners,” Carol explained patiently.  “Ever since the doctor said fresh milk and eggs, we’ve been flooded with milk and—­”

“Pelted with eggs.  But you can’t pelt any sixty-four eggs down me.”

“David,” she said reproachfully, “I must confess that you don’t sound very sick.  The doctor says, ‘Take him west,’ and I am taking you if I ever get rid of these eggs.  But I do think it would be more appropriate to take you to a vaudeville show where you might coin some of this extravagant humor.  There’s a market for it, you know.”

“Here comes Mrs. Sater, with a covered basket,” announced David, glancing from the window.  “I just wonder if the dear kind woman is bringing me a few fresh eggs.  You know the doctor advised me to eat fresh eggs, and—­”

Carol clutched her curly head in despair.  “Cock-a-doodle-doo,” she crowed.

“You mean, ‘Cut-cut-cut-ca-duck-et,’” reproved David.

Mrs. Sater paused outside the manse door in blank astonishment.  Dear, precious David so terribly ill, and poor little Carol getting ready to take him away to a strange and awful country, and the world full of sadness and weeping and gnashing of teeth, and yet—­from the open windows of the manse came the clear ring of Carol’s laughter, followed closely by David’s deeper voice.  What in the world was there to laugh at, since tuberculosis had rapped at the manse door?

They were young, of course, and they were still in love,—­that helped.  And they had the deathless courage of the young and loving.  But Mrs. Sater bet a dollar she wouldn’t waste any time laughing if tuberculosis were stalking through her home.

“Come in,” said Carol, in answer to her second ring.  “We saw you from the window, but I was laughing so I was ashamed to open the door.  David’s so silly, Mrs. Sater.  Since he isn’t obliged to strain his mental capacity by thinking up sermons, he has developed quite a funny streak.  Oh, did you bring us some nice fresh eggs?  How dear of you.  Yes, the doctor said he must eat lots of them.”

“They were just laid yesterday,” said Mrs. Sater complacently.  “And I said to myself, ’Nice fresh eggs like these are too good for anybody less than a preacher.’  So I brought them.  There’s just half a dozen,—­he ought to eat that many in one day.”

“Oh, yes, easily.  He is very fond of egg-nog.”

David sputtered feebly among the pillows.  “Oh, easily,” he echoed helplessly.

“I knew a woman that ate eighteen eggs every day,” said Mrs. Sater encouragingly.  “She got well and weighed two hundred and thirty pounds, and then she had apoplexy and died.”