"You will stay here and rest," I told him. "I think I will have to try it."
"You goin' now?" asked Sammy.
"I'll be off in a few minutes."
"Then I goes wid yer, in course," said the sturdy old fellow. "I might be hinderin' you a bit with th' walkin', 'count o' them long legs o' yourn, but I knows th' way an' ye'll be safer from gettin' strayed."
So I ran up to Atkins', to see once more how the child was getting on, finding everything satisfactory enough. I left some medicine and gave careful directions, after which I returned to the Jelliffes' house. Miss Helen was waiting, wrapped in a waterproof coat. Her head was bare, and she did not appear to mind the gusts of rain which came down upon it, driven under the porch by the gale.
"Good-by, oh! good-by!" she cried. "Thank you for everything and God be with you!"
She gave me a grip of the hand that was strong with a nervous force one would hardly have deemed her capable of, and I left her regretfully, I must say, for she had become such a comrade as a man seldom meets with. Then Sammy and I started on our long walk over the ridges and barrens, striking well inland. We had been gone but a few minutes before Sweetapple Cove was blotted from our sight by the pelting rain that spattered fiercely over our oilskins.
And now I am putting in another long night.
The storm still beats upon the roof and the wind is howling like some unmerciful beast unleashed. The Snowbird surely could not sail away to-day, for the dawning is showing its first gleams through the tiny window panes, and there is no sign of any change.