"At your service," he replied with a slight, courteous formality that again reminded her of Philip.
"I saw you at church to-night, and wondered why you did not come in."
"I am not a Christian," he explained.
"Oh, but that doesn't matter! That is just why Philip—Mr. Benoix, I mean—has come up here. To make Christians."
The other smiled faintly. "The few Christians of my acquaintance have been born, and not made.—Now, shall we start again?"
They came at last to the first of two small cabins, whose door the man kicked open. They deposited their now unconscious burden upon a bed, one of several that stood in a neat, white row, each with curtains about it.
"Why, it's a regular dormitory! Is yours a boarding-school?"
He shook his head. "My hospital extension. It is easier to take care of sick scholars here than at their homes, and I have often sick scholars. None at present, however. We have room here for several patients, as you see, and soon I hope to be able to build another house for women. Obstetrical cases," he explained, rather absently. While he spoke he was removing Channing's bandage. "Hum! The shot has fortunately missed the patella, but it must come out." He rose and began to build a fire in a small cook-stove at one end of the room. "When I have sterilized these instruments, young lady, we shall have a try for that bullet."
Jacqueline paled. "You mean you are going to—to cut him? Are you sure you know how?"
He smiled at her, "Quite sure. We mountain teachers have opportunity to learn many things."