Barton's family consisted of a wife, two strapping sons, who were hunters and trappers, and a daughter. The daughter's name was Jennie, aged eighteen. She was a strong, healthy, beautiful girl. Nothing could exceed the loveliness of her skin, the whiteness of her even teeth, or the graceful shapeliness of her form. Mrs. Jones and Mattie were immediately drawn to her. She met their advances freely and frankly, though her manners showed at once that she was not accustomed to such society. But she was so unaffectedly sweet and pure that the two ladies loved her all the better for her unsophistication. Mrs. Barton was an invalid, and they did not see her that evening.
After a bountiful supper the whole party drew up to a vast fireplace. In it roared a huge fire, for the night was very cold and frosty. For a time the air-ship and the object of their voyage was discussed. The admiration of Barton and the inhabitants of Constance House for the globe was unbounded. The wind had lulled away to a very gentle breeze, and the superlatively splendid globe hung above them so majestically, and glistened so beautifully in the moonlight, that it is not wonderful that these people, who saw and knew so little of the outside world, should be struck dumb with wonder and astonishment as they looked upon it.
"I must say," said Barton, "that I never experienced such sensations in my life as I did when your ship hove in sight. I have been mate of some good ships in my time, and have traveled over a good portion of the earth. I have seen many strange sights on land and sea, but this beats them all by so much that I shall never mention them again. And you are going to make the North Pole beyond a peradventure. Nothing could please me so well as to make one of your party. But my poor, poor wife!" He dropped his face into his hands, and tears trickled down upon his massive grey beard. The two sons and Jennie also participated in their father's grief.
"What is the matter with your wife?" asked Mrs. Jones, very gently. "Perhaps Dr. Jones might do something for her."
"No, no, madam; her case is a hopeless one. I took her down to Montreal last year, and the best medical men there were consulted. They could do absolutely nothing for her, and I have brought her home to die. I wanted to stay there with her, where she could have more of the comforts of life, but she preferred to come back to Constance House."
"While I know nothing of the nature of your wife's disease, yet I will say that I have cured many cases of so-called incurables. It is not that I know more of the nature of disease than the average physician, but I use drugs that they know nothing of, will not investigate, look at, nor even touch with the longest of tongs," said Dr. Jones.
"But, Doctor, my wife's case is cancer. They showed me the latest and best authorities, and they invariably gave what they called an 'unfavorable prognosis.' You would not undertake to say that this fearful disease is curable, would you?" cried Barton, very earnestly.
The Doctor saw that he had a very intelligent and well-informed man to deal with. He had conceived a liking for the grand old man, and desired, with all his good and kindly heart, to help this noble family in its distress and isolation from the civilized world. So he said slowly and impressively:
"Mr. Barton, I came to you this afternoon like a messenger from the skies. The way in which I came, and the ship in which I sailed, ought to entitle my word to some weight with you. Now I am going to say this: I have cured cancers, and believe that a large percentage of them are curable. I would like to see your wife, and if I can do anything for her, I shall be glad to do it."
"I thank you, Dr. Jones, with all my heart. Come right in with me," and Barton led the way to his wife's room. Half an hour later the Doctor came from the sick room, went out, jumped into the cage and mounted to the globe. He returned in a few moments and said: "I have here medicine, Mr. Barton, that is certain to do your wife a great amount of good. And I am quite positive that it will work a perfect cure. Her symptoms point so unmistakably and pronouncedly to a certain remedy that I feel safe in assuring you of immediate relief. I shall be much surprised if you do not see less pain, burning, restlessness, thirst—in short, a decidedly better night than she has known for months."