."

The Colonel cleared his throat. He had just been contemplating a signal
to Zack, but now the idea seemed somehow inappropriate.

"Why not Bradford?" he asked. "He's her father!"

"He's got poison-ivy, or hives, or something." And, after another
moment: "Good night, sir, I think I'll go up stairs and work!"

In the library Dale closed his book and stood up. He had overheard this
conversation about skin grafting, and now went softly out through the
dining-room way, thence to the overseer's cottage. Pushing open the
door, he looked in.

In the uncertain glimmer of light cast by the shaded kerosene lamp, sat
the doctor, Bradford and Aunt Timmie, each with eyes on the little
sufferer. They did not look up, and he passed through, standing with his
hands clasped behind his back, gazing down with the others at the
pitiful scene. Nor did they realize he was there until his deep voice
drawled:

"Brent says you want healthy skin."

"I do, very much indeed," Stone quickly arose.

"Well, I reckon you can have what you want of mine."

The doctor took up the lamp and held it close to Dale's face.

"Drink?" he asked.

"Never have yet."

Ignoring the presence of Aunt Timmie, he put a few more intimate
questions, and a look of gratification crossed his face when the
mountaineer had fully answered.

"You'll do," he whispered hopefully. "Don't eat breakfast in the
morning, and be here at seven o'clock."

"What's that for?" Dale asked.

"I'll put you under an anaesthetic, and your stomach must be empty."

"What's anaesthetic?"

Doctor Stone explained it.

"And how long will that last?"

"You ought to feel pretty good by noon, maybe sooner."

"But I've got to study in the mornin'!"

"Study, man! Get that notion out of your head. You won't do any studying
tomorrow!"

"Then you don't get any skin tomorrow," Dale turned resolutely on his
heel. "I've got too much to do, an' too little time to do it, to fool
'round here!"

Stone looked at him in speechless wonder, saying slowly in his surprise:

"I don't understand you!"

Bradford sprang up to entreat, but was pushed roughly aside as the
mountaineer started to the door.

"Wait, Mr. Dawson," he implored. "Maybe you kin save her life!"

"I ain't begrudgin' the skin," Dale wheeled on him with savage emphasis,
"but time I do begrudge! Get someone else!"

"You miss the importance of this," the doctor was also losing patience.
"I'll only keep you--"

"You won