Page 180 - A Little Bush Maid

FOR FRTENDSHTP

"Daddy!"

At the quivering voice her father lifted his head and Norah saw that his

eyes were wet.

"Tt’s my dear old friend Stephenson," he said brokenly. "T told you about

him. We thought he was dead--there was the body; T don’t understand, but
this is he, and he’s alive, thank God!"

The Hermit stirred and begged again for water, and Mr. Linton held him
while he drank. His face grew anxious as he felt the scorching heat of the

old man’s body.

"He’s so thirsty," Norah said tremulously, "goodness knows when he’d had
a drink. His poor lips were all black and cracked when T found him."

"Had he no water near him?" asked her father, quickly. "You got this?"

"Yes, from the creek," Norah nodded. "T’ll get some more, Daddy; the
billy’s nearly empty."

When Norah returned, laden with two cans, her father met her with a very
grave face.

"That’s my girl," he said, taking the water from her. "Norah, T’m afraid he’s
very ill. Tt looks uncommonly like typhoid."

"Will he--will he die, Daddy?"

"T can’t tell, dear. What’s bothering me is how to get help for him. He wants
a doctor immediately--wants a dozen things T haven’t got here. T wish that

blessed black boy hadn’t gone! T don’t quite know what to do-- T can’t leave