I had intended to see you to-morrow morning, and expect to do so, but I believe it might be best for you to obtain my advice at once.  Miss Jelliffe has doubtless told you how she helped me with a case of diphtheria, although I am sure she omitted to say how brave and helpful she was.  The danger to her is comparatively slight, I am sure, yet we must not forget that such a danger exists.  If you were to start to-morrow morning you could be in St. John’s before night.  From there two days would find you in Halifax and two more in New York, so that you would be always near good care and advice.

With a little care and prudence in regard to your leg I am sure that you can reach home quite safely.

With kindest regards,
Very sincerely yours,
JOHN GRANT.

I stared at Daddy, hardly knowing what to say.

“That boy has a lot of good sound horse-sense!” he exclaimed.  “I am just going to follow his advice.  Bring me my check-book.  I am going to make out something for that little parson.  He needs a place to give the folks what he calls readings, and other things.  He told me that two-fifty would give him unutterable joy.  I’ll make it five hundred so that he can shout.  Now in regard to Dr. Grant....”

“Are we really going to-morrow, Daddy?” I interrupted.

“You bet we are going to-morrow, always providing that yacht of ours is ready.  I gave orders yesterday to have something done and....”

But I didn’t listen any more.  I went to the window and drew aside the little curtain.  Down below, in the cove, I could see the Snowbird’s anchor light, gleaming brilliantly.  The windows of some of the houses shed a sickly pale radiance, but beyond this everything was in darkness, with just the faintest suggestion of enormous masses representing the jagged cliffs.  There was not a single star in the heavens, and all at once everything seemed to be plunged in desolation.  It felt as when one awakes in the darkness from some beautiful dream.  I knew then that I would be actually home-sick for Sweetapple Cove when I returned to New York.

Please don’t laugh at me, Aunt Jennie dear, you know I have had no one but you to confide in since I have grown out of short skirts.  Perhaps it was this thing I saw in Atkins’ house that has upset me so, and I suppose that my life has always been too easy, and that I have not been prepared to meet some of the grim horrors it can reveal to one.

I could not think of leaving without saying good-by to Mrs. Barnett.  My hand shook as I pushed a hatpin through my cap.  Then I told Daddy where I was going and ran out into the darkness.

When I reached the poor little house they insist on calling the rectory the dear woman opened her arms to greet me, and I saw that her beautiful eyes were filled with tears.

“What is the matter, dear?” I asked.