"Well, wait. A minute or two more or less won't matter. I want to know about this. Can't you get nurses from Calgary, and aren't there any other doctors in the country?"
"There are three besides myself over my territory, but two of 'em's down, and the other—" The doctor scowled and muttered something about "white-livered coward."
"And nurses?"
"I tell you I've been unable to get anyone. The city nurses have their hands full in town, and they won't come up to the country. As for the women themselves—the farm women, those who are not down, have gone plumb crazy with fright. I've gone from ranch to ranch like a beggar, imploring help."
Nettie had come out again. She had changed from her overalls to the blue house dress that Mrs. Langdon had made for her and over this she had thrown a plaid shawl. The blue woolen tam that Angella had knitted for her was on her head, and she looked singularly young and sweet. A few articles of clothing were knotted in a neat bundle under her arm.
"Doc," she said, "I'm going with you."
There was a long pause. Dr. McDermott blinked up at her, scowled, grunted something under his breath, and cleared his throat loudly. Angella stood stiffly by the door, not attempting to move, and her arm tightened involuntarily about the baby.
"I'm awfully strong," went on Nettie, "and I ain't likely to ketch nothing, and it don't matter if I do, far as that goes. It's up to me to help those that need me. You'll let me go, won't you, doc?"
"You're a good lass," muttered the doctor, "and you'll be a grand help to me."
At last Angella found her voice.