"I'm goin' to the pest-house nussin' to-morrow," returned the old woman, in the same quiet tone.
"Good land! Sarah Gatchell!" cried Miss Bullins, upsetting her lap-board. "Aint you 'most afraid?"
A quaint smile flitted across the widow's face.
"What'd I be afeared of," she said, "'s old 'n' homely 's I be? The small-pox aint agoin' to touch me. I'd 'a' gone a week ago, but I couldn't leave Mis' Merrill, an' her baby not a week old. I've jess been a-talkin' with Dr. Horton," she went on. "He says they're sufferin' for help. They's three sick women an' two children, an' not a woman in the house to do a thing for 'em. They've been expectin' two nusses from the city, but they aint come. Seems to me 'taint jest right fur men-folks to be fussin' 'round sick women an' childern."
"Oh my, it's awful!" sighed Miss Bullins, pinning her pattern crooked in her distress.
"Not a woman there?" said Lilly O'Connell, who had been listening with her hands idle in her lap.
"There'll be one there in the mornin'," said the widow, rising to go. "I'd 'a' gone to-night, but I couldn't be o' much use till I'd gone 'round the house by daylight, an' got the hang o' things."
"Wall, you've got good grit, Sarah," said the milliner, with enthusiasm. "You're as good as half a dozen common women. I declare, I'd go myself, but I shouldn't be a bit o' use. I should catch it in a day. I was always a great one for catchin' diseases."
"Aint ye well?" said Mrs. Gatchell, turning suddenly toward Lilly. "Ye look kind o' peakèd. I guess ye set still too much."
"I am perfectly well," said Lilly.