"It is now the end of June month. By the end of September month she will be cured—not before."
I think I know that that was a black moment for Hannah. She said nothing at all, but the sick girl fell to weeping.
"But, Master Doctor, we cannot stay—we cannot! And now, after all, I shall not be cured!"
Hannah could not bear to see her sweet Ann Mary in tears, and she cried out stoutly:
"Yes, you shall, too! Remember can take the horses back without us, and tell our father. Somehow—I can earn—oh, we must!" Then a new fear sprang into her heart. "Oh, sir," she cried to the doctor, "is it dear, your cure? Must one have much silver for it?"
The stolid little old gnome did not look toward her or change his position as he said:
"It costs time—no silver." He moved toward the house. "Go to the minister's to-night," he called from his doorstep. "It is the house of brick." Just before he closed his door he added: "Come here to-morrow morning."
When they reached the great brick house, the other two hung back, afraid of so much grandeur; but three days of travel through the dangers of a primitive forest had hardened Hannah to the lesser fear of strange people. To the old minister and his wife she told their story very briefly, with a desperate kind of self-possession, so concerned about poor Ann Mary, tired and hungry, waiting out in the night air, that she did not remember to be afraid of the minister's fine linen and smooth, white hands, or of the laces and dark silk of his handsome, white-haired wife, or of the gold braid and red coat of
