"Hiram Strong! is that you? For the land's sake what have you been havin' a light in your window for the whole live-long night?"
There was no mistaking the energetic voice of his neighbor. She hurried in at the gate, her head and arms wrapped in a shawl.
"Are you sick, or what is it?" pursued Miss Pringle. "I said to Abigail, 'I'm going to find out what that light means if it's the last act of my life—and before I have my breakfast, too!' I declare I waked up a dozen times during the night and saw your light winkin' at me just like a star. What is the matter?"
"Don't come any nearer, please, Miss Pringle," Hiram broke in. "You mustn't."
"Mustn't what?"
"Come any nearer to me."
"What's the matter with you, Hiram Strong? You ain't going to explode like dynamite, are you?"
"It's worse than dynamite."
"For the land's sake! what is it?"
"It is smallpox," said Hiram, his voice on the point of breaking.