"Quinine?"
"Yes. Those Illinois swamps are chock-full of chills and fever."
"Cheerful prospect! What if you get sick, Rod?"
"Pooh. I never had a sick day in all my life. However, the farm-houses, up on higher ground, are out of the malaria belt. If I get so Miss Nancy-fied that I can't stay in the swamp, I can sleep at a farm-house. They say there are lots of pleasant people living down through that section. It is a beautiful country, too. I—I'd like it immensely, I imagine."
"Of course you will. But what makes you speak so queerly, Rod? You're certainly going to accept this splendid chance!"
Rod's dark, sober face settled into unflinching lines.
"We'll settle that later. What about you, Sis? If I go West, where will you go? How will you manage without me?"
"Oh, I'll go up to Ipswich for the summer. Just as I always do."
Rod considered.
"That won't answer, Marian. Now that the Comstocks have moved away, there is nobody there to look after you. And you'd be lonely, too."