"Who—who fixed me up?" he demanded confusedly.
"I fixed you up," smiled the Indian girl, again immensely well satisfied with herself.
"That was awfully kind of you, I'll say," admired Henry. "But—it feels like a doctor's job."
"I have had a nurse's training," explained the girl, "besides other training—two years at the Mission School in Seattle and two years in Carlisle."
"Um," grunted Henry, vastly relieved. That explains things. "He had heard of these cases; Carlisle Indians reverting to the blanket. The girl was less a mystery to him now; more a pleasant incident.
"You are a good little Siwash!" he approved, and patted the soft hand some more. He even reached out and patted the soft cheek and passed an exploring hand over the forehead because of an impulse to know the touch of that glossy hair. The little maid suffered these familiarities without protest. Perhaps that was Indian stoicism. Perhaps she liked it—this compliment of the white man's attention. "You are a darned nice little girl, Lahleet!" Henry approved, when suddenly gazing at her face brought another to his mind. "What time is it?" he asked abruptly, and fumbled for his watch.
"Eight o'clock," answered the girl, glancing at a tiny ivory clock.
"Eight o'clock of when?" Henry was still confused as to how much time had flown.
"Of Wednesday morning."
"Then I can make it," he gulped eagerly, "if—if How long will it take me to get to town, Lahleet? I positively must be there at ten o'clock."
The girl was all sympathetic interest. "It is only
