“Here,” said she, “give uz a hand to move her on to the seat. Jim, run home an’ get Biddy to fill two or three jars wid boilin’ wather, an’ bring thim along wid a blanket. She’s as cowld as death. Joe, fly off wid yeh for the docther.”
“What docther will I go for, ma’am?”
“The first ye can git,” said Mary, promptly beginning to chafe the inanimate woman’s hands and loosen her clothes.
When the doctor came he found Mrs. Macfarlane laid on an impromptu couch composed of two of the cushioned benches placed side by side. She was wrapped in blankets, had hot bottles to her feet and sides, and a mustard plaster over her heart.
“Bravo! Mrs. O’Brien,” he said, “I couldn’t have done better myself. I believe you have saved her life by being so quick—at least, saved it for the moment, for I think she is in for a severe illness. She will want careful nursing to pull her through.”
“She looks rale bad,” assented Mary.
“What are we to do with her?” said the doctor. “Is there no place where they would take her in?”
Mary glanced at Jim, but he did not speak.
“Sure, there’s a room in our house,” she ventured, after an awkward pause.