"Don't you live here?".
"Oh, no. I live about half a mile up the road."
"Well, then, go at once and phone for the police," Mrs. Andrews ordered.
"I can't do that very well now," was the reply. "I'm looking after a sick woman, and it would not do for me to leave."
"A sick woman! Here?"
"Yes. It's Mrs. Denton, poor soul. She's had a hard time of late, and the strain has been too much for her, and so she took to her bed last week. The women around here have taken turns staying with her. I do not know what will become of her."
"Is she very ill?" Mrs. Andrews asked.
"I'm afraid so. It is a nervous breakdown. I am going to take two of the children for a while, but what will happen to the other three the Lord only knows. But dear me, I've been keeping you standing here all this time. Come in and rest yourself, for you must be tired out after your trying experience."
The room into which Mrs. Andrews was ushered was the kitchen. It was spotlessly clean, and a fire was burning in the stove.
"She's in there," the woman whispered, pointing to a door on the left. "The children are upstairs."