Doctor Stevens jumped into the boat and turned his flashlight on Margaret’s face. Helen saw his lips tighten into a thin straight line. He felt her pulse.
“Run ahead,” he told Ned Burns, “and tell Mother Linder to open one of those spare beds of hers and get me plenty of hot water.”
He stooped and picked Margaret up in his arms, carrying her like a baby. Mr. Linder hurried ahead to light the way.
Helen stopped to talk with Jim Preston for a moment.
“I think you’d better take the class home,” she said. “There’s nothing more they can do here.”
“Will you go back with them now?” asked the boatman.
“No, I’m going to stay here tonight. I’ll phone mother.”
Helen turned and ran toward the farmhouse. Inside there was an air of quiet, suppressed activity.
Doctor Stevens had carried Margaret into the large downstairs bedroom which Mother Linder reserved for company occasions. Two kerosene lamps on a table beside the bed gave a rich light which softened the pallor of Margaret’s cheeks.
Doctor Stevens was busy with an injection from a hypodermic needle, working as though against time. Tragedy had danced on the tips of the waves a few minutes earlier but how close it came to entering the farmhouse only Doctor Stevens knew at that hour for Margaret’s strength, sapped by the terrifying experience on the lake, was near the breaking point and only the injection of a strong heart stimulant saved her life.