"Who is it?" asked the doctor, anxiously. He had thought that his patients were in no danger, at least for the night. Tears came to Barbara's eyes.
"Bessie Duncan," she replied.
"Are you sure that she is—" the doctor hesitated.
"Yes, but you'll go, doctor, and you, too, won't you, Mr. Blake?" Barbara pleaded. The expression on the undertaker's face was not encouraging. "I know about the others," she continued, "but they have had such a hard time, please go—for me, Mr. Blake. I'll—I—you can come to me for the money."
"I'll go," said Mr. Blake; "never mind about the money."
"Come," was all that Barbara said as she started for the door followed by the two men. The three went out into the rain and the darkness of the night on their cheerless errand.
The talkers at the store were silent for a long time after that. They had heard all that was said, though it was far from Barbara's intention that they should, but she had been so eager to secure the assistance of the doctor and Mr. Blake that she had thought only of them.
"So Miss Wallace wants to pay the bills of that mean, drunken skunk of a Rufe Duncan," said Sam, fiercely.
"That ain't any of your business," retorted Alick. "If she wants to have the little girl buried decent, what's the harm?"
"'Tain't her place," replied Sam, more for the sake of an argument than because he believed it. "What do you say, Peter?"