He stepped to the side of the cot. "Why Frank, what are you doing here; and what is the matter?"
"I'm sick," answered the young man, in a feeble voice. "I wanted to see you so bad. I'm awful glad you came."
"But why are you here in this miserable place? I do not understand."
"Small-pox," muttered the sick man. "Folks in town are afraid.
The nigger takes care of me. He has had it."
The minister involuntarily started back.
"Oh Brother Cameron, don't leave me here alone," cried Frank. "I can't die like this."
For one brief moment Cameron trembled. He saw his danger and the trap into which he had fallen. He thought of his work and of his wife, and took one step toward the door; then stopped.
"Oh, I can't die alone," said the voice again.
Then with a prayer to his God for help, the minister made up his mind.
"Why of course I'll not leave you, Frank," he said cheerily, resuming his seat. "You know that surely."