A brief examination was enough to show the doctor that a broken leg was the least of Cameron's trouble. A hasty investigation of the resources of the farm house determined the doctor's course.

"This man has typhoid fever, a bad case too," he said to Mandy. "We will take him in to the hospital."

"The hospital?" cried Mandy fiercely. "Will you, then?"

"He will be a lot of trouble to you," said the doctor.

"Trouble? Trouble? What are you talkin' about?"

"We're awful busy, Mandy," interposed the mother, who had been roused from her bed.

"Oh, shucks, mother! Oh, don't send him away," she pleaded. "I can nurse him, just as easy." She paused, with quivering lips.

"It will be much better for the patient to be in the hospital. He will get constant and systematic care. He will be under my own observation every hour. I a.s.sure you it will be better for him," said the doctor.

"Better for him?" echoed Mandy in a faint voice. "Well, let him go."

In less than an hour's time, such was Dr. Martin's energetic promptness, he had his patient comfortably placed in the democrat on an improvised stretcher and on his way to the city hospital.

And thus it came about that the problem of his leave-taking, which had vexed Cameron for so many days, was solved.

CHAPTER VIII

IN APPLE TIME

"Another basket of eggs, Mr. Cameron, and such delicious cream! I am deeply grieved to see you so nearly well."

"Grieved?"

"For you will be leaving us of course."

"Thanks, that is kind of you."

"And there will be an end to eggs and cream. Ah! You are a lucky man."

And the trim, neat, bright-faced nurse shook her finger at him.

"So I have often remarked to myself these six weeks."

"A friend is a great discovery and by these same tokens you have found one."

"Truly, they have been more than kind."

"This makes the twelfth visit in six weeks," said the nurse. "In busy harvest and threshing time, too. Do you know what that means?"

"To a certain extent. It is awfully good of them."

"But she is shy, shy--and I think she is afraid of YOU. Her chief interest appears to be in the kitchen, which she has never failed to visit."

The blood slowly rose in Cameron's face, from which the summer tan had all been bleached by his six weeks' fight with fever, but he made no reply to the brisk, sharp-eyed, sharp-minded little nurse.

"And I know she is dying to see you, and, indeed," she chuckled, "it might do you good. She is truly wonderful." And again the nurse laughed.

"Don't you think you could bear a visit?" The smile broadened upon her face.

But unaware she had touched a sensitive spot in her patient, his Highland pride.

"I shall be more than pleased to have an opportunity to thank Miss Haley for her great kindness," he replied with dignity.

"All right," replied the nurse. "I shall bring her in. Now don't excite yourself. That fever is not so far away. And only a few minutes. When we farmers go calling--I am a farmer, remember, and know them well--when we go calling we take our knitting and spend the afternoon."

In a few moments she returned with Mandy. The difference between the stout, red-faced, coa.r.s.e-featured, obtrusively healthy country girl, heavy of foot and hand, slow of speech and awkward of manner, and the neat, quick, deft-fingered, bright-faced nurse was so marked that Cameron could hardly control the wave of pity that swept through his heart, for he could see that even Mandy herself was vividly aware of the contrast. In vain Cameron tried to put her at her ease. She simply sat and stared, now at the walls, now at the floor, refusing for a time to utter more than monosyllables, punctuated with giggles.

"I want to thank you for the eggs and cream. They are fine," said Cameron heartily.

"Oh, pshaw, that's nothin'! Lots more where they come from," replied Mandy with a giggle.

"But it's a long way for you to drive; and in the busy time too."

"Oh, we had to come in anyway for things," replied Mandy, making light of her service.

"You are all well?"

"Oh, pretty middlin'. Ma ain't right smart. She's too much to do, and that's the truth."

"And the boys?" Cameron hesitated to be more specific.

"Oh, there's nothin' eatin' them. I don't bother with them much." Mandy was desperately twisting her white cotton gloves.

At this point the nurse, with a final warning to the patient not to talk too much and not to excite himself, left the room. In a moment Mandy's whole manner changed.

"Say!" she cried in a hurried voice; "Perkins is left."

"Left?"

"I couldn't jist stand him after--after--that night. Dad wanted him to stay, but I couldn't jist stand him, and so he quit."

"Quit?"

"I jist hate him since--since--that night. When I think of what he done I could kill him. My, I was glad to see him lyin' there in the dust!"

Mandy's words came hot and fast. "They might 'a killed you." For the first time in the interview she looked fairly into Cameron's eyes. "My, you do look awful!" she said, with difficulty commanding her voice.

"Nonsense, Mandy! You see, it wasn't my leg that hurt me. It was the fever that pulled me down."

"Oh, I'll never forget that night!" cried Mandy, struggling to keep her lips from quivering.

"Nor will I ever forget what you did for me that night, Mandy. Sam told me all about it. I shall always be your friend."