“We–we are poor, sir. And we were burned out last night, and have no insurance. I do not know what we really shall do–yet.”
“You are the house-mother–eh?” he demanded.
“I am the oldest. There are only Euphemia and me, beside poor papa—”
“Well, it’s regarding your father I must speak. He’s in a bad way. We can do him little good here, save that he will rest and have nourishing food. But if he goes back to work again—”
“I know it’s bad for him!” cried Lyddy, with clasped hands. “But what can we do? He will crawl out to the shop as long as they will let him come—”
“He’ll not crawl out for a couple of weeks–I’ll see to that,” said the doctor, grimly. “He’ll stay here. But beyond that time I cannot promise. Our public wards are very crowded, and of course, you have no relatives, nor friends, able to furnish a private room—”
“Oh, no, sir!” gasped Lyddy.
“Nor is that the best for him. He ought to be out of the city altogether–country air and food–mountain air especially—”
“Hillcrest!” exclaimed Lyddy, aloud.
“What’s that?” the doctor snapped at her, quickly.