head, an' 'magines he's somebody else, an' ain't in his own house, an'
all sorts of nonsense." She went to the bed an' stood lookin' at the
sick man in a queer sort of way, an' she give a big long breath, as if
she felt awful bad, an' then went out by a door that I knew went to
the hall, an' I heard noises in a minit more, as if they come from the
kitchin stove.

'Now I knowed she took me for a nurse and all that, but all the same I
begun to think I'd better git out. I couldn't play nurse an' ask about
that Sunday-school feller too, an' I thought I'd jest made a big
blunder, an' I'd better git out 'thout waitin' for her to come back;
an' jest then I heard a little noise, an' I looked round, an' the sick
man had rolled over an' was lookin' at me straight, an' when he
ketched my eye, he says, "Come here, madam, please." 'Twas a real
pleasant voice, though weak, an' I went right up to the bed. He looked
at me real sharp, an' sort of wishful, and then he says, "You look
like a good woman."

'I didn't say nothin', an' he kep' right on, sort of hurried like. "I
was not asleep when you entered," he says, "and I heard that poor
woman. I am not insane, and this is not my home. You have come here to
nurse me, but if you want money you can earn a hundred nurses' fees by
going to a telegraph office and telegraphin' to----"

'Jest then there was a noise in the hall, an' he stopped, an' I picked
up a fan an' stood as if I was a-fannin' away a couple of little moths
that the lamp had drawed.

'Nobody came in, so I went to the door an' listened. Seemed as if I
heard a door shet upstairs, an' I guessed the woman was taking up the
cross man's dinner. So I went back to the bed. He laid still for a
bit, and seemed listenin'; then he says:

'"I am a prisoner, and have been half-killed first, an' then drugged
to keep me so. My people are wealthy. They will pay you royally if
you'll help me; if you'll go to the nearest police-station an' give
'em a paper I will give yer, with my father's name, an'----" He
stopped ag'in, an' shet his eyes quick as lightnin'; an' the next
minit the pale woman came in quick, an' lookin' awful anxious. She
went to the bed an' looked at the sick young feller, an' then she took
hold of the trumpet and motioned me to listen. "Can you hear?" she
says into it, not very loud. I nodded, an' looked to'rds the bed. "He
sleeps real sound," she says, "and won't be likely to wake up, anyhow;
I can't leave him alone t