“That will do quite well, and perhaps I shall be better as the day goes on,” said Grace, whose face was pinched and drawn with the suffering.
Bertha sat down and wrote the letter, although her day’s work lay all before her. She was seriously worried about Grace, and when she had written a letter to the doctor which Grace might read, she hastily scribbled a little private note, which she slipped inside the envelope, begging that the doctor would come over, if he thought it the least bit necessary, and that she herself would borrow the money from her sisters to pay the bill, if there was no other way. Then she threw a saddle on old Pucker and rode away across the ruined wheatfields to the quarter section where Mr. Smith was ploughing. It was quicker than walking, and more restful, also, and there was quite enough active exercise for her in every day to make her anxious to save her strength where she could.
The Smiths had been terribly hard hit in the harvest disaster, for they had taken up a mortgage on their land the year before, in order to have more money to invest in wheat-growing, and so they found themselves with interest on the mortgage to pay in hard cash, as well as to find means of a livelihood until harvest came again.
Mrs. Smith had drooped under the trouble until she was quite ill, and doubtless would have been worse if it had not been for the fact that Grace insisted on sharing some of the nourishing things with her which had come in that mysterious packing case.
This kindness of sharing was bringing its own reward in the neighbourly goodness of Mr. Smith, who did many things for them which were not in his ploughing contract. He was just starting a new furrow, but when he saw her coming he waited for her to come up, and, getting off his plough, stood holding his horses, which were in prime condition, and mettlesome from the amount of corn they managed to lick off the ground when they had scraped the battered straw away with their fore feet. They were doing it now, being as wise in their way as humans, and turning the brief resting-time to the best account they could.
“Good morning, Miss Bertha, nothing wrong, I hope?” he said, lifting his hat, as she came near enough for speech.
“I don’t know whether it is wrong or right,” said Bertha, in a worried tone, “and that is why I have ridden across to you instead of waiting until you came past the house at noon.”
Then she told him about the pain which Grace was suffering, and asked him if it would be possible to get her letter to Pentland Broads that day.
“It will have to be possible,” he said quietly. “I will unyoke and go at once. If the doctor is in, I will bring back an answer from him; but if you don’t see anything of me, you will know that I have gone back home because the doctor was not at home, and that I will ride over again for you this evening.”
“You will not need to go the second time, thank you,” said Bertha, “because I have asked the doctor to come over. I think that it is necessary that he should see Mrs. Ellis, only she does not know that I have asked him to come.”