“Never liked to live thar, a day of the thirty year nohow,” she said.
Many long, weary weeks went by at Blood Camp. Paul Waffington, Fen Green and Emeline Hobbs watched over the sufferer day and night with never a murmur. Each day, each night, the faithful Waffington had followed the old doctor to the gate and asked him the same question:
“How is the patient, doctor?”
Each time in reply the old doctor had shook his head. Business was hard pressing him to return to his Knoxville home, but he remained at the bedside of the sufferer. Then, too, he had failed to make his annual visit back to Kentucky to see the home folks. He had duly written to his mother that she might know the reason of his delay. But tonight he has received a letter from her that burns him:
“Hazel Green, Ky., July 4th, 19—.
“Dearest Paul:
“We are all deeply disappointed to learn that you will not come home this summer. Your two brothers, your little sister and your father, too, have all made mention of it and expressed disappointment. I fear that you are unwell—and are doing too much.
“We have looked forward with delight to the time when you would come and make us all so happy.
“Your little schoolmate, Imogene, inquires about you most every week—and, Paul, she has grown so beautiful during the past year.
“Your dear father is not well, and your sister says to tell you to come home soon. I miss you so much, my boy.