“Don’t you know there is fever in it?”
For a moment he looked at her in wonder.
“The fever,” he repeated, “what do you mean?”
“The germs of typhoid—I thought everybody knew that.”
“But you see I am not everybody,” he answered, laughing.
She looked at every feature of his face. “But didn’t you feel like it the other night?”
This surprised him so that he had not made an answer when she went on: “Everybody who has died of typhoid fever around here drank water out of ‘Indian Well.’ This is where they got the germ.”
“I was never here before. You are very good to warn me.” He looked at her and she seemed so sweet and beautiful as she stood there, between him and danger. Whether real or imagined, her motive was the same.
“Is your home near by?”
“I live with my grandpa in the white house on the road as you came up.”