relate in an hour, stopping in
lonely woods, or at wretched taverns, watching, waiting for the transfer
of the child, whose destination I was bound to know even if it cost me a
week of miserable travel without comfortable food or decent lodging. I
could hear the child cry out from time to time--an assurance that I was
not following a will-o'-the-wisp--but not till to-day, not till very
late to-day, did any words pass between me and the man and woman who
drove the wagon. At Fordham, just as I suspected them of making final
efforts to escape me, they came to a halt and I saw the man get out.

"I immediately got out too. As we faced each other, I demanded what the
matter was. He appeared reckless. 'Are you a doctor?' he asked. I
assured him that I was. At which he blurted out: 'I don't know why
you've been following us so long, and I don't care. I've got a job for
you. A child in our wagon is ill.'"

With a start I attempted to look over the old man's shoulder toward the
bed. But the deep, if irregular, breathing of the child reassured me,
and I turned to hear the doctor out.

"This gave me my chance. 'Let me see her,' I cried. The man's eye
lowered. I did not like his face at all. 'If it's anything serious,' he
growled, 'I shall cut. It isn't my flesh and blood nor yet my old
woman's there. You'll have to find some place for the brat besides my
wagon if it's anything that won't get cured without nu'ssin'. So come
along and have a look.' I followed him, perfectly determined to take the
child under my own care, sick or well. 'Where were you going to take
her?' I asked. I didn't ask who she was; why should I? 'I don't know as
I am obliged to tell,' was his surly reply. 'Where we are going
oursel's,' he reluctantly added. 'But not to nu'ss. I've no time for
nu'ssin' brats, nor my wife neither. We have a journey to make.
Sarah!'--this to his wife, for by this time we were beside the
wagon,--'lift up the flap and hold the youngster's hand out. Here's a
doctor who will tell us if it's fever or not.' A puny hand and wrist
were thrust out. I felt the pulse and then held out my arms. 'Give me
the child,' I commanded. 'She's sick enough for a hospital.' A grunt
from the woman within, an oath from the man, and a bundle was presently
put in my arms, from which a little moan escaped as I strode with it
toward my buggy. 'I do not ask your name,' I called back to the man who
reluctantly followed me. 'Mine is Doctor Pool and I live in