“You shall hear about it,” he answered. “I had been to visit a sick man, and was on my way home—something more than two miles from the station. I had just looked at my watch and decided I had time enough and to spare to go to my boarding-place and get my bag before the train would be in, when a little woman darted out of a house and called to me. Her baby had been taken sick and she didn’t know what to do. Her husband was out of town for the day, and she didn’t dare to leave the child to go for a doctor. She was frantic, and with good reason. The baby had had one convulsion and was on the verge of another. It happened that I knew something of what should be done; so I applied the usual remedies, and in a few minutes the little fellow seemed better. Then I went for the doctor, only a mile off, and fortunately found him home. His horse had gone lame, or he would have been away visiting patients. We went back together, and he said the child was doing all right then. The mother begged me so hard to stay with her that I hadn’t the heart to leave her alone. So, you see, my visit up here had to be postponed.”
“And is the little baby all right now?” asked Dolly, who had become greatly interested in her brother’s story.
“He appeared to be when I saw him this morning.”
“Did you go ’way out there before you came up here?” she asked.
He nodded. “That wasn’t too much to do for a very nice little woman and a very nice little baby, was it?”
Dolly shook her head. “No. I’m glad you went, because now I know the baby’ll get well. Sardis is always doing things like that,” she added, directing her remark across to Polly.
“‘Things like that’ are the things that we all of us ought to do,” returned Polly.
“I can’t,” said Dolly softly.
“That isn’t your part,”—Polly took the small hand in hers.
“What is my part?” she asked thoughtfully.