“No, I shall not visit Hidden Lake this year. Perhaps next summer—but ‘To-morrow is a day too far to trust whate’er the day be.’ I shall never forget Joey or you, or your wonderful kindness and friendship. Good-bye, Mr. Fixing Man,—or not good-bye! au revoir. Oh, all the good wishes in the world I send to you and Joey—and Wanza.
“Judith Batterly.”
When I finished this letter I sat quietly, watching curiously a white butterfly—a Pine White—skimming back and forth above a flowering currant bush that grew close to the window. I found myself strangely impassive. I said to myself that Haidee was mistaken about my feeling for Wanza; but I experienced no sense of bereavement because she had found that her own feeling for me was that of a friend, merely. I was not even surprised. “I have Joey,” I kept repeating over and over to myself, hugging this comfort to my breast. There was a fear back of my exultation in the lad’s possession. A fear that was strong enough to force the full significance of Haidee’s communication into the background of my mind. Was my lad ill? Was he really ill? I asked myself. He was thin, and his cheeks were feverishly bright, and his voice sounded tired,—but, was he a sick child?
I went back to the kitchen, looked at the ingredients set forth on the table and then out of the window anxiously. If only Wanza would come and a wonderful spice cake could be in the oven when Joey awakened. If only— But here I broke off in my musings, for I heard a strange sound from the cedar room.
I went as fast as my feet could carry me to the room where I had left my boy. I found him lying, face downward on the floor, where he had evidently fallen when he attempted to walk from his bed to the door. I lifted him, turned his face to me, and examined it. It was flushed so deep a red as to be almost purple. His eyes were open, but he did not seem to see me, his lips were parted, the breath was hot on my face. I placed him on the bed, and he murmured unintelligibly.
I knew then that my lad was ill, indeed, and when I heard a step behind me and saw Wanza on the threshold, I ran and caught her hand. “Thank God, you have come,” I exclaimed.
“They told me in Roselake Joey was back,” she cried, and brushed past me to the bed.
I turned and went from the room. A few moments later she came to me.
“What has she done to him? What has she done to him?” she burst forth.
“She has done nothing, Wanza.”