Mr. Linton was writing hurriedly in his pocket-book.
“Send into Cunjee for Dr. Anderson as hard as a man can travel,” he said shortly. “Don’t wait for him, however; get Mrs. Brown to pack these things from my medicine-chest, and let Billy get a fresh horse and bring them back to me, and he needn’t be afraid of knocking his horse up. I’m afraid we’re too late as it is. Can he find his way here?”
“He’s been here.”
“That’s all right, then. Tell Anderson I think it’s typhoid, and if he thinks we can move him, let Wright follow the doctor out with the express-wagon—Mrs. Brown will know what to send to make it comfortable. Can you manage Bobs?”
“Yes—of course.”
Mr. Linton put his hand on her shoulder.
“I’ve got to let you go,” he said. “It’s the only way. Remember, I won’t have a minute’s peace until I know you’ve got safely home.”
“I’ll be all right, Daddy—true. And I’ll hurry. Don’t bother about me.”
“Bother!” he said. “My little wee mate.” He kissed her twice. “Now—hurry!”