"I don't know."
"Suppose she's dying?"
"Don't!"
The elder boy turned sharply and lowered the lamp that was smoking.
The long hours crept away. By and by the lamp flickered and went out, and the fire died down, and left only a heap of white ashes on the hearth. Then the gray dawn crept in and after awhile the gray was tinged with gold. Later, the sunrise gun boomed through the stillness, to be followed by the ringing notes of the reveille.
Upstairs, the post surgeon was leaning over the little brass bed.
"I'll spend the night," he had said briefly, on his last visit. There were symptoms about Cary's labored breathing and dry cough that he did not like.
The child's sleepless eyes and flushed face looked wan in the grayness of the early dawn.
As the hours dragged by, Cary became more restless and her mind began to wander.
"Don't let him, Johnny! Don't let him! He'll drown! He'll dro——" the voice rose in a shriek and then trailed off.