The pale light in the sky grew slowly. Something stirred in the road--toward the Pringle cottage. Miss Pringle and Abigail were always early risers. And here came one of them along the road! "Hiram Strong! is that you? For the land's sake what have you been havin' a light in your window for the whole live-long night?" There was no mistaking the energetic voice of his neighbor. She hurried in at the gate, her head and arms wrapped in a shawl. "Are you sick, or what is it?" pursued Miss Pringle. "I said to Abigail, 'I'm going to find out what that light means if it's the last act of my life--and before I have my breakfast, too!' I declare I waked up a dozen times during the night and saw your light winkin' at me just like a star. What is the matter?" "Don't come any nearer, please, Miss Pringle," Hiram broke in. "You mustn't." "Mustn't what?" "Come any nearer to me." "What's the matter with you, Hiram Strong? You ain't going to explode like dynamite, are you?" "It's worse than dynamite." "For the land's sake! what is it?" "It is smallpox," said Hiram, his voice on the point of breaking. "What's that?" gasped the woman. "Smallpox? You haven't got such a thing." "Perhaps not--not yet," Hiram said. Then he told her about his visitor and how he had found Orrin Post in the calf pen. "And you've been tending him all night, Hiram! You poor fellow!" exclaimed Miss Pringle, bustling forward again. "Oh! But you must not come here!" cried Hiram. "You find somebody to send to fetch a doctor. I'll stay and look after the fellow now I've begun the job." "And you don't really know it's smallpox. I'd took nice getting Dr. Marble up here, tellin' him it was smallpox, and then having it turn out to be nothing of the kind. He'd never let me hear the last of it. Let me see this Orrin Post." "But, Miss Pringle, you must not!" "Go along! Do you think I'm afraid, Hiram Strong? I guess I'm just as brave as you are." She pushed right by him and went into the house. The air was warm and close, and she sniffed it energetically. "If smallpox was much developed you could smell it, Hiram," she declared. "No mistake about that. The poor fellow! How red he is! Looks more like scarlet fever, if you ask me." She went to the bunk and placed her soft, cool palm on the patient's forehead. Almost instantly his head stopped weaving from side to side on the pillow. He sighed and murmured, asking for water. Hiram caught up the pitcher and went out to the pump. When he returned Miss Pringle had been examining the sick man's chest. She straightened up and looked back over her shoulder at Hiram. The grin with which she favored him was the most beautiful smile the young fellow had ever beheld.