out words that both the
children became appalled, and Dolly looked inclined to cry. Gwen
continued:--"She has caught a horrible fever in a dreadful place where
she went to see poor people, and nobody can say yet a while what will
happen. It _is_ Typhus Fever, I'm afraid."

As Gwen uttered the deadly syllables, Uncle Mo turned away to the
window, leaving some exclamation truncated. Aunt M'riar's voice became
tremulous on the beginning of an unfinished sentence, and Dolly
concealed a disposition to weep, because she was afraid of what Dave
would say after. That young man remained stoical, but did not speak.

Presently Uncle Mo turned from the window, and said, somewhat
huskily:--"I wish some of these here _poor people_, as they call
themselves, would either go away to Aymericay, or keep their premises a
bit cleaner; nobody wants 'em here that ever I've heard tell of, only
Phlarnthropists."

Aunt M'riar's unfinished sentence had begun with "Gracious mercy!..."
Its sequel:--"Well now--to think of a lady like that! My word! And
Typhus Fever, too!"--was dependent on it, and contained an element of
resignation to Destiny.

Dave struck in with irrelevant matter; as he frequently did, to throw
side-lights on obscurities. "The boy at the School had fever, and came
out sported all over with sports he was. You couldn't have told him from
any other boy." That the other boy would be similarly spotted was, of
course, understood.

Having broken the news, Gwen went on to minimise its seriousness; a
time-honoured method, perhaps the best one. "Dr. Dalrymple is cheerful
enough about her at present, so we mustn't be frightened. He says only
very old persons never recover, and that a young woman like my cousin is
quite as likely to live as to die...."

Uncle Mo caught her up with sudden shrewdness. "Then she's quite as
likely to die as to live?" said he.

"Oh, Mo--Mo--don't ye say the word! Please God, Sister Nora may live
for many a long day yet!" Thus Aunt M'riar, true to the traditional
attitude of Life towards Death--denial of the Arch-fear to the very
threshold of the tomb.

"So she may, M'riar, and many another on to that. But there's a good
plenty o' things would please us that don't please God, and He's got it
all His own way."

Uncle Mo, after moving about the room in an unsettled fashion, as though
weighed upon by the news he had just heard, had come to an anchor at the
table opposite Gwen--obsessed by Dolly, but acqui