"You?" Mildred exclaimed in utter surprise.
"Yes, I, Miss Keith. Did you think there was none of the milk of human kindness in me? My school's broke up by this pestilence, and only one of our family has took the fever yet; so when I heard that you were nearly all down sick here, and your girl had gone off and left you, I said to myself, 'There's a duty for you there, Damaris Drybread; go right away and do it,' And I came."
"And it was very, very kind in you," Mildred said, extending her hand. "I have hardly deserved it from you, for I've judged you, harshly."
"Well, I shouldn't wonder if I'd done the same to you," Damaris answered coldly, taking the offered hand only to drop it again instantly. "But that's neither here nor there; and I don't ask no thanks. I'm only tryin' to be a good Samaritan to you, because we're told, 'Go, and do thou likewise.'"
The cries of the children had become so piteous and importunate that Mildred rushed away to attend to them.
Her father's calls had ceased and as the little ones quieted down she could hear a manly voice speaking to him in gentle soothing tones.
"It is the doctor," she thought, with an emotion somewhat akin to pleasure; he was so sorely needed and had not called since the previous night; but on going in she found Mr. Lord by the bedside.
He turned, showing a face full of sympathy and concern, and held out his hand.
"This is kind," she said, putting hers into it.