The boy waited and waited. It seemed to him hours, days, weeks, years! To every impatient call the doctor would answer, “In a minute, sonny, in a minute!”
At last he emerged with his lantern, to catch his horse. The doctor seemed so slow. He fumbled over the harness.
“Oh! Doctor you’re so slow! I tell you my Mama’s sick—!”
“Well, well, my boy, we’ll soon be there,” the old man kindly replied.
When the boy saw the doctor’s horse jogging quickly toward his home he turned the mare’s head aside as he reached the court house square, roused the Preacher, and between his sobs told the story of his mother’s illness. Mrs. Durham had lost her only boy two years before. Soon Charlie was sobbing in her arms.
“You poor little darling, out by yourself so late at night, were you not scared?” she asked as she kissed the tears from his eyes.
“Yessum, I was scared, but I had to go for the doctor. I want you and Dr. Durham to come as quick as you can. I’m afraid to go home. I’m afraid she’s dead, or I’ll hear her laugh that awful way I heard to-night.”
“Of course we will come, dear, right away. We will be there almost as soon as you can get to the house.”
He rode slowly along the silent street looking back now and then for the Preacher and his wife. As he was passing a small deserted house he saw to his horror a ragged man peering into the open window. Before he had time to run, the man stepped quickly up to the mare and said, “Who lived here last, little man?”
“Old Miss Spurlin,” answered the boy.