"Ye'd better git up, honey—an' come down stairs."
But the girl made no movement.
"Why?" she asked, listlessly.
"Yer pappy, honey—he's sorter cur'us. He don't seem to be right well. He didn't seem to be quite at hisself when I went to light his fire. He——"
Louisiana sat upright in bed, her great coil of black hair tumbling over one shoulder and making her look even paler than she was.
"Father!" she said. "He was quite well late last night. It was after midnight when we went to bed, and he was well then."
The woman began to fumble uneasily at the latch.
"Don't ye git skeered, chile," she said. "Mebbe 'taint nothin'—but seemed to me like—like he didn't know me."
Louisiana was out of bed, standing upon the floor and dressing hurriedly.
"He was well last night," she said, piteously. "Only a few hours ago. He was well and talked to me and——"