ed the doctor's house by eleven o'clock, and to his joy found
him at home. The rough old man refused to move an inch until he had fed
his horse and eaten a hearty meal.

The Boy tried to eat, but couldn't. The food stuck squarely in his
throat. It was no use.

He went outside and waited beside his horse until the doctor was ready.
It seemed an eternity, the awful wait. How serene the still beauty of
the autumn night! Not a breath of wind stirred. The full moon hung in
the sky straight overhead, flooding the earth with silver radiance,
marking in clear and vivid lines the shadows of the trees on the ground.

Bitter wonder and rebellion filled his young soul. How could God sit
unmoved among those shining stars and leave his mother to die!

The doctor came at last and they started.

In vain he urged that they gallop.

"I won't do it, sir!" the old man snapped. "Your horse has come thirty
miles. I'll not let you kill him and I'm not going to kill myself
plunging over a rough road at night."

They reached the cabin at daylight. The Boy saw the glow of the flame in
the big fireplace through the woods and his heart beat high with new
hope. Now that the doctor was here he felt sure her life could be saved.

The Boy stood close by his side when he felt her pulse, and looked at
the strange whitish-brown coating on her tongue.

"You can do something, Doctor?" he asked anxiously.

"Yes," was the short answer.

He asked for a towel and bowl and opened his saddlebags. He examined the
point of his lancet and bared the slender arm.

"What are ye goin' ter do?" Tom asked with a frown.

"Bleed her, of course. It's the only thing to do----"

The Boy suddenly pushed himself between the doctor and the bed and
looked up into his stern face with a resolute stare:

"You shan't do it. I don't know nothin' much about doctorin' but I got
sense enough to know that'll kill her--and you shan't do it!"

The doctor looked angrily at the father.

"I say so, too," Tom replied. "She's too weak for that."

With a snort of anger, the old man threw the lancet into his saddlebags,
snapped them together and strode through the cabin door.

The Boy followed him wistfully to the stable, and when he seized the
bridle to put on the horse, caught his hand and looked up:

"Please don't go," he begged. "I'm mighty sorry I made you mad. I didn't
go to do it. You see----" his voice faltered--"I love her so I just
couldn't let you cut her arm open