On the afternoon of the third day the storm, which had prevented the sending of a doctor, cleared, and about five o’clock Miss Porter went down-stairs into the kitchen, where her servant was quietly engaged with her domestic duties.
“Sarah, I’m going to town to see Doctor Bowman,” she remarked, in grave, subdued tones, an anxious expression in her mild, gray eyes. “Mrs. Brewster is sleeping, but I want you to go up and sit by her until I return, which won’t be very long, and if she wakes, give her two teaspoonfuls of the medicine in the glass that is on the mantel.”
“Yes, marm,” responded Sarah, as she changed her calico apron for a white one, preparatory to going up-stairs.
“And—if any one comes in,” pursued Miss Porter thoughtfully, “tell them nothing! you can simply say I am out, and Mrs. Brewster is lying down. I don’t want any gossip started. I’ll tell my own story.”
“Yes, marm,” said Sarah again, and her mistress hurried away.
She was just in time to catch the five-twenty express for town, where she arrived just on the stroke of six, when she proceeded directly to the waiting-room to leave her waterproof and umbrella with the woman in charge, while she made a visit to her physician.
She did not find her in the outer room, and so went on into the ladies’ private siting-room, which she found to be empty, quite an unusual occurrence, although doubtless the recent tempest was the reason why so few people were abroad.
At least Miss Porter thought the place was empty, until a faint sound greeted her ear, when she started forward and peeped around a corner, to find only an animated bundle wrapped in a gray shawl lying upon the great square table standing there.
“It’s a baby!” muttered Miss Porter in astonishment, “but where on earth is the mother?”