When dinner was over Mr. Stillman glared into the room where his wife lay. "She is asleep," he said. "I guess she's all right."
"She hasn't eaten a thing to-day," said Rachel. "Hadn't she better have the doctor?"
"Well," said her father, impatiently, "if she's no better in the morning, I'll send for him;" and he went back to the field.
Rachel went for Mrs. Lansing, for she and her sisters grew frightened as the mother's fever increased. When that good woman came she saw at once the serious condition of her friend.
"I saw Dr. Lewis coming down the road in his buggy as I came," she said. "One of you hurry out and stop him."
When, about five o'clock, the rain began to fall in torrents, Mr. Stillman had the satisfaction of seeing the last load of grain driven inside the barn door; and, taking off his hat, he wiped the moisture from his face, saying: "Well, boys, we beat the rain; and I don't care if it pours down now."
He walked toward the house, and, to his surprise, saw the well-known figure of Dr. Lewis on the front porch. "Driven in by the rain," he thought. "I'll get him to give mother a little medicine."
"How are you, doctor?" he said, as he stepped upon the porch. "Lucky getting my wheat in, wasn't I?"
"Very," said the doctor, gravely; "but I am sorry to say I find Mrs. Stillman a very sick woman. You should have sent for me long ago." The husband was startled.
"Why," he said, "she has been going about until to-day. I guess it's this weather has made her so weak. She can't be very sick."