enator St. John," she began rapidly, "Aladdin O'Brien's sick in my
house, and the last thing he said was, 'I've got to see Margaret'; and
he's dyin' wantin' to see her, and I've come for her, and she's got to
come."

It was a tribute to St. John's genius that in spite of her incoherent
utterance he understood precisely what the woman was driving at.

"You say he's dying?" he said.

"Doctor's given up hope. He's had a relapse since this mornin', and
she's got to come right now if she's to see him at all."

The senator hesitated for once.

"It's got nothin' to do with the proprieties," said Mrs. Brackett,
sternly, "nor what he was to her, nor her to him; it's a plain case of
humanity and--"

"What is the nature of the sickness?" asked the senator.

"It's fever--"

"Is it contagious?" asked the senator.

"No, it ain't!" almost shrieked the old lady. "And what if it was?"

"Of course if it were contagious she couldn't go," said the senator.

"It ain't contagious, and, what's more, he once laid down his life for
her on the log, that time."

"If you assure me the fever is not contagious--"

"You'll let her come--"

"It seems nonsense," said the senator. "They are only children, and I
don't want her to get silly ideas."

"Only children!" exclaimed Mrs. Brackett. "Senator, give me the troubles
of the grown-ups, childbirth, and losing the first-born with none
to follow, the losing of husband and mother, and the approach of old
age,--give me them and I'll bear them, but spare me the sorrows and
trials of little children which we grown-ups ain't strong enough to
bear. You can say I said so," she finished defiantly.

The senator bowed in agreement.

"I believe you are right," he said. "I will take you home in my
carriage, Mrs.--"

"Brackett," said she, with pride.

The senator stepped into the hall and raised his voice the least trifle.

"Daughter!"

She answered from several rooms away, and came running. Her hands were
inky, and she held a letter. She was no longer the timid little girl
of the island, for somehow that escapade had emancipated her. She had
waited for a few days in expectation of damnation, but, that failing to
materialize, had turned over a leaf in her character, and became such a
bully at home that the family and servants loved her more and more from
day to day. She was fourteen at this time; altogether exquisite and
charming and wayward.

"Aladdin O'Brien is very sick, daughter," said