All this morning I dawdled about the house. I had expected Dr. Grant to call and see Daddy, but he had been sent for, a short distance away, in the boat.
Rather late this afternoon he returned, and I strolled over towards the cove when I saw the tiny schooner come in. It is a poor enough little ship, but it is wonderful to think how it bears with it such comfort and help to so many suffering people.
I was within a few yards of him, and he was lifting his cap when a fisherman rushed up to him.
"Ye're wanted ter Atkins'," said the man. "They is a child there as is awful sick. They brung 'un over from Edward's Bay, this mornin', an' th' mother she be prayin' fer ye to come."
"All right," he answered. "Sammy, bring my bag up with you and I'll hurry up at once."
He only smiled at me, in his pleasant way, for he rushed by me, running up the rough path in great strides, and of course I could only go back to our house, where I sat with Daddy on the porch.
From where I sat I could see Atkins' house. It is only a little way from us, up the hill. There were a number of people assembled in front of it, because whenever any one is hurt or very ill they are apt to gather around, as people do sometimes in New York before a house where an ambulance has stopped. Then I saw the doctor sprinting out towards Sammy's house, whence he returned carrying another bag. Of course I have several times helped him a little, in the last month, when Mrs. Barnett didn't get in ahead of me, so I rose.
"I am going up to Atkins'," I told Dad. "I wonder what is the matter. I shall only be gone a few minutes."
So I ran away, bare-headed, and rushed to the place, but before I reached it Mrs. Barnett arrived there, all out of breath.
When I passed through the waiting people I heard Dr. Grant's voice, and he spoke very angrily. I had never thought before that he could get quite so mad. There was a swarm of women in the house, some of them with babies in their arms, and a few children, among whom was Frenchy's little boy, had also slipped in.