Katy had reached the door too, and put her hand on the knob. “They’ve already started to the infirmary with him, Miss Harriet, John and that young doctor across the street, before I came in. He told them to take him there himself. He was half up, holding to the fence, before John was off the box. ‘Stop the doctor there getting in his buggy,’ he said to John, ‘and get me around to the infirmary.’”
“And the doctor—what did he say?” demanded Alexina.
“He said ‘Good Lord, man!’ and he swore just awful at John being so slow helping get him in the carriage.”
Harriet all at once was herself, perfectly controlled.
“Go get me my long cloak, please, Katy,” she said.
“Oh, Miss Harriet,” from Katy; “you ain’t thinking of goin’ out—it’s sleetin’ awful—without the carriage!”
But Harriet already had reached the stairs going for the wrap herself.
Alexina followed her. “What is it, Aunt Harriet?” she begged. “Where are you going?”
Harriet answered back from her own doorway. “To the infirmary.”
Action is the one thing always understood by youth. Alexina entirely approved. “I’ll go, too,” she said, and ran into her room to change her wrap for a darker one.