“Amen to that!” said Laura. “I don’t care what he’ll be, doctor. Only give him back to me!”
“He’ll be an invalid a very long time, girl.”
“And all that time I can nurse him and love him back to health!”
Footsteps suddenly clattered on the porch. The front door flung open.
“Laura! Are you all right? Are you safe?” cried a new voice.
“There’s my father!” exclaimed the girl. “And there’s Dr. Marsh, with him!”
Into the cabin penetrated two men. Nathaniel Maynard—thin, gray, wiry—stood staring. The physician, brisk and competent, set his bag on a chair and peeled off his coat, dripping rain.
“Laura! Tell me—”
“Not now, father! Shhh! I’m all right, every way. But Hal here—”
“We won’t have any unnecessary conversation, Mr. Maynard,” directed Dr. Marsh. He approached the berth. “What is this, now? Stab-wound? Ah, yes. Well, I’ll wash right up and get to work.”