"Oh, Ida, do—do come away," cried Angela from the phaeton.
But Ida paid no attention to her. She bent over the woman, and, drawing off her gloves, put her soft cool hand on the flushed forehead.
"You have a high fever," she said, "and you ought not to stay here; it will soon be dark. Have you no home nor friends?"
"I'm tryin' to get to my sister in Edgerton," was the reply. "I've walked all the way from Stormville, a-draggin' that cart 'n' a-carryin' of my baby. I can't go no further. I'm clear worn out."
Ida went out into the road again. "Angela! we can't go off and leave this poor woman here to die," she said.
"I don't see what we can possibly do for her," rejoined Angela.
"We might put her in the phaeton and drive her to Edgerton."
"Put her into my nice phaeton! That horrid, dirty woman!" Angela stared at her friend in astonishment at such an extraordinary proposition. "Indeed, she shall not come anywhere near me! I am sure she has some dreadful contagious disease."
"Angela, we can't go off and leave her here. It would be utterly heartless."