It seems strange that I shall probably never see Miss Jelliffe again.  The yacht has been delayed for several days, and they did not start as they expected to.  But when I return I have no doubt that the Snowbird will be gone, and with it two charming people who will be but delightful memories.  I had thought to show Dora how willing I was to do what she calls a man’s work, and expected to accomplish it at the cost not only of hard toil, which is an easy enough thing to get through with, but also at the price of exile among dull people.  I have had plenty of work, but for the last two months there has not been a stupid moment.  The girl’s bright intelligence and fine womanliness, the old gentleman’s kindly and practical ways, have made my visits to them ever so pleasant, and those journeys to the barrens and the river have been delightful.

And now the Barnetts will be left, pleasanter companions by far than I had any right to expect in this out-of-the-way corner of the island.  And then I always hope that Dora will soon be coming home, as she calls it, and I will hasten away to her, and perhaps plead with her for the last time.  I do hope she will approve of the man’s work; perhaps also of the man!

I last saw Miss Helen the day before yesterday morning, just before the summons came for me to go to Edward’s Bay, and she told me she hoped I would return before her departure.  She said it so kindly that I am rather proud of having won the friendship of such a splendid girl.

Here I found a man with pneumonia, who has still a chance.  His wife and children are sleeping on the floor, all around me.  Once more I am seeking to preserve one life, that others may go on too, and I ordered the woman to take a rest, for she has been up two nights.

When I last went to the Jellifies’, after changing all my clothes, and taking all possible precautions, I told her that the child was better, and that I was under the impression that the antitoxine was having a favorable effect.  Also I informed her that I was going to start Atkins off to St. John’s for another supply in case the malady should spread, for I only had about enough left for one bad case.

“I hope he makes good time,” I said, “but of course one can never tell, though he’s a first rate man and can make his way into the cove in weather of all kinds, barring an offshore gale.  Fog doesn’t bother him.”

“You have had a sleepless night,” she told me.  “It must have been hard to keep awake after all the work you have done in the last few days.”

I assured her that I had enjoyed some sleep, having dozed off several times on my chair.  I had ordered Mrs. Atkins, under dire threats, to awaken me at least every half hour, and she had obeyed fairly well.

“You know that we may perhaps be able to leave to-morrow,” she said.

“Yes, it is best that you should,” I told her.  “Your father is quite well able to stand the journey now.  They can easily warp the schooner up to the little dock so that he may walk aboard without trouble.  I hope this wind may change soon, for just now it looks rather threatening.”