Mary beckoned for one of them to come to her.

“What happened to my father?” she asked.  “I would not let him tell me, he is too thoroughly upset.”

“We don’t know, Miss,” replied the man who had made the timely suggestion about the bath.  “We were down on the bank, getting the boat ready that is to start for the south to-morrow, when a boat rowed by a girl came up the river.  She was dripping with perspiration, and looked as if she had been rowing for a wager.  Mr. Selincourt was sitting in the stern, and there was a small boy covered with mud too.  The girl bade us take Mr. Selincourt and get him to bed, and said that she would send down river for Mr. Ferrars.”

“How truly good of her!” cried Mary, with a mist of tears coming into her eyes.  “It must have been Miss Radford from the store over the river.  I was going to ask one of you to go to Seal Cove for Mr. Ferrars, but if he has been already sent for he may soon be here.  So will you please go over to the store instead, give my love to Miss Radford, and ask her to tell you what was wrong?”

The man dried his soapy hands by the simple process of rubbing them on his trousers, and started on his errand, while Mary entered the house again and peeped in at the open door of her father’s room, to make sure that he was still sleeping.

There was a good fire in the kitchen, and the kettle was boiling again.  Mary had not had her cup of tea yet, although she had made one for her father.  But she had forgotten all about that —­forgotten, indeed, that she had taken no food, except two hard biscuits, since her early breakfast.  It seemed such a long time before the man came back.  His comrade was still busy out at the rear of the house, rubbing, pounding, and punching at the mud-stained clothes to get them clean, and as he worked he whistled softly over and over again two or three bars of “The Maple Leaf for Ever”.  For years afterwards Mary never heard the song without recalling that afternoon, with its keen anxiety, the glorious sunshine, and the steamy, soapy atmosphere of the little kitchen.

From front door to back door she paced, always treading softly through fear of disturbing the sleeper in the room beyond; then paced from back door to front door again, and paused to wait for the messenger whose coming was so delayed.  Presently she heard the sound of oars, then a boat grounded, and a moment later the man came up the path, carefully carrying something in a basket which he presented to Mary.

“It is a bottle of ginger posset which Mrs. Burton has sent over for Mr. Selincourt.  She says you must give him a teacupful as soon as he wakes, and you ought to make him swallow it even if he objects, as there is quinine in it, which may ward off swamp fever,” the man said, with the air of one repeating a lesson.

“Mrs. Burton is very kind,” said Mary, as she took basket and bottle.  “But did you see Miss Radford, and why should there be danger of swamp fever for my father?”