sloping field and past the crescent curve of the maple grove to her lost home.
After milking, Caroline threw a shawl over her head and ran across the field. The house looked lonely and deserted. As she fumbled at the latch of the gate the kitchen door opened, and Christopher Holland appeared on the threshold.
“Don’t come any farther,” he called.
Caroline fell back in blank astonishment. Was this some more of Victoria’s work?
“I ain’t an agent for the smallpox,” she called back viciously.
Christopher did not heed her.
“Will you go home and ask uncle if he'll go, or send for Dr. Spencer? He’s the smallpox doctor. I’m sick.”
Caroline felt a thrill of dismay and fear. She faltered a few steps backward.
Sick? What's the matter with you?”
“I was in Charlottetown that night, and went to the concert. That sailor sat right beside me. I thought at the time he looked sick. It was just twelve days ago. I've felt bad all day yesterday and to-day. Send for the doctor. Don't come near the house, or let any one else come near.”
He went in and shut the door. Caroline stood for a few moments in an almost ludicrous panic. Then she turned and ran, as if for her life, across the
