"Is there any danger?"
"If this heat would let up a little, I think there would be no doubt but that we could pull him through. But—Tabitha ought to have some help for her own sake."
Poor Tom! He could see that the little sister was weakening, and he was doing all in his power to lighten her load, but he could not help her in her ceaseless watching which was telling so fearfully on her strength. In an agony of anguish and despair he slipped out to the back steps and sat heavily down in the shade of the house, dropping his hot head on his arms and two stinging tears coursing down his cheeks.
"I beg your pardon, but isn't this where Mr. Catt lives?"
The voice spoke directly at his elbow, and Tom, so much absorbed in his unhappy thoughts that he had not heard the approaching footsteps, looked up in surprise to see a tall, well-dressed, refined-looking stranger on the lower step.
"Yes, sir."
"May I see him?"
"He is very sick—hurt—and doesn't know anyone. We can't allow folks to see him."
"I understood that he was seriously injured and that you needed someone to help care for him. I—"
"We are in need of help," Tom interrupted; "but he won't let anyone wait on him but my sister."