"Well?"
"Temperature a hundred and four," said the Dawson doctor.
"Oh, is—is that much or little?"
"Well, it's more than most of us go in for."
"Can you tell what's the matter with him?"
"Oh, typhoid, of course."
The Boy pulled his hat over his eyes.
"Guess you won't mind my stayin' now?" said Maudie at his elbow, speaking low.
He looked up. "You goin' to take care of him? Good care?" he asked harshly.
But Maudie seemed not to mind. The tears went down her cheeks, as, with never a word, she nodded, and turned towards the tent.