The Morning Glory Club Part 31

It was a beautifully still night, the air was clear and cold--just such a night as the one on which the sleigh-ride accident had occurred, but so much had happened since then that neither thought of it.

"When are you going home, Barbara?" Will asked, suddenly.

"Very soon, in a day or two, probably."

"And when--when shall we be--" Will hesitated. "Married" is a difficult word to speak sometimes, but it came after a moment, and manfully.

"I am ready, Will, when you are," Barbara replied. At that moment they heard the pounding of a horse's hoofs, and the sound of sleigh-bells, coming furiously toward them. They stopped to listen, and as the sound came nearer, Will, thinking that it was a runaway, started into the road, but Barbara clung to his arm and held him back. Love is selfish sometimes, and has a right to be. As the team rushed by, they saw that it was Doctor Jones.

"A race--perhaps with death," said Will, as they walked on. Barbara shuddered.

The train was late, and while waiting, Barbara and Will slowly paced the dimly lighted platform. When at last the warning shriek of the engine on the approaching train came through the still night air, they stopped in their walk, and with clasped hands watched the glaring headlight as it rapidly neared them. The station-master, lantern in hand, emerged from his warm office and shivered when he felt the cold air, but he did not see the man and woman who stood near.

"Have courage," said Will, as the train stopped.

"And faith," Barbara whispered, as he turned to leave her. A moment more and he was gone. She watched until the red lights on the rear of the train had disappeared, then slowly walked toward Mrs. Stout's. In returning she went by a different road, one that would take her by the parsonage. The way was lonely, but she did not notice, and deserted until she approached the home of Mr. Flint, with the black church looming across the way. A horse and sleigh were standing by the side of the road, and near the gate two men, one with a red lantern, were talking earnestly. As Barbara drew nearer she saw that the red light had been improvised by tying a red handkerchief around an ordinary lantern, and recognized the men by their voices as Doctor Jones and Sam Billings.

"I can't find a man or a woman who will come," she heard the doctor say.

"He's a mighty sick man, and--" said Sam, but Barbara interrupted him.

"Who?" she asked. The two men had not heard her approach, and when she spoke they were startled and instinctively stepped back. Barbara misunderstood their action, and a feeling of bitter resentment arose within her, as she started to hasten by.

"Oh, is it Miss Wallace?" asked the doctor.

"Yes," Barbara replied.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Wallace," said the doctor, quickly, "it is not you of whom we are afraid, but Mr. Flint is dangerously ill, and has been lying in his study unattended since yesterday; Sam, here, made the discovery to-night. Mrs. Flint is away. I sent for her, but received word that she is sick too, and I can't find any one to take care of him. Has Will gone?"

"Yes; but what is the--what is Mr. Flint's trouble?" Barbara asked, and looked wonderingly at the red lantern.

The doctor knew that Barbara's courage was good, he remembered how fearlessly she had worked during the epidemic of diphtheria, early in the winter, yet he hesitated now before answering her question.

"Why don't you tell me?" said Barbara, impatiently. "What is it?"

"Smallpox," replied the doctor.

It was Barbara's turn to shrink from them.

"And no one to nurse him?" she asked.

"No; and that is what he needs more than anything else," said the doctor.

"There must be some one--are they afraid?"

"Naturally."

"But if you cannot get some one--"

"His chance for life is nothing."

"He must not lie there alone and suffer!" Barbara cried, as the horror of the situation became more deeply impressed on her mind. The three were silent for a moment. Each was trying to think of some one who was competent, and willing to do the work.

"I know who will do it," said Barbara, suddenly.

"Who?" the doctor asked, eagerly.

"I will," Barbara calmly replied.

"No!" exclaimed the doctor and Sam together.

"I must," she replied, firmly.

"But you have been worried, you are in no condition to undertake such work," the doctor pleaded. "Think of the risk, and the work, day and night for days, perhaps weeks."

"Will it be any harder to bear than what I have already borne?" she asked. The men were silent. "Please send word to Mrs. Stout, and--I will go in now." She turned to go, but stopped when the doctor spoke.

"You may save him, but you will sacrifice yourself. Why should you do that for the man who--"

"Please, doctor, do not remind me of what he has done--I have tried to forget."

"Pardon me," said the doctor, who saw that she was determined. "Sam will be here outside to get anything that you may need. I shall call in the morning."

Barbara walked up the path to the door of the parsonage. The two men watched, and, accustomed as the doctor was to scenes of suffering, sacrifice and death, there were tears in his eyes.

"She's an angel," muttered Sam.

"Courage, faith," was Barbara's whispered prayer as she opened the door of the pest-stricken house and went in.

Chapter XXII

Many Minds Change

THE next morning the people of Manville had something really new and startling to talk about. When it first became known that Mr. Flint had been stricken with that most dreaded and loathsome disease, smallpox, everybody tried to remember the most recent time that they had been near him. Many who had attended his church on the previous Sunday felt that they were doomed. Others equally superst.i.tious thought that they and Mr.

Flint were to be punished in this way by a wrathful G.o.d for the persecution of an innocent woman. All sorts of crazy, silly talk was indulged in, but through it all Barbara's praises were sung, though few seemed to understand fully why she had sacrificed herself. Their minds were too narrow, their world too small, to appreciate such service.

The red flag by day, the lantern by night, and Sam Billings all the time on the steps of the parsonage, were objects of curious interest. Many went far out of their way in order to pa.s.s by--on the opposite side--and Sam was kept busy all day yelling answers to volleys of questions. But he was equal to the task and enjoyed it. For the time being he was the only person in town of any consequence, the centre of all interest, the only one to answer questions, and he was being paid for it.

At Stout's Grocery, the proprietor, Alick Purbeck, and undertaker Blake were loud and sincere in their praise of Barbara.

"She's the right kind," said Alick, enthusiastically.

"There's not a woman in town her equal," added Mr. Blake.

"Right," said Peter, "exceptin'--"