Jean laid off her outer cloak and hat, and went in where old Dr. Gallup sat. It always seemed foolish to call him old although his years bordered on three score. His hair was gray and straggled boyishly as some football hero’s, his eyes were brown and bright, and his smile something so much better than medicine that one just naturally revived at the sight of him, Cousin Roxy used to say. He sat by the table, looking out the window, one hand tapping the edge, the other deep in his pocket. One could not have said whether he was taking counsel of Mother Nature, brooding out there in the shadowy spring night, or lifting up his heart to a higher throne. “Hello, Jeanie, child,” he said, cheerily. “Going to keep me company, aren’t you? Did you come up alone?” “Shad drove me over. Doctor, Billie is all right, isn’t he?” “We hope so,” answered the old doctor. “But what is it to be all right? If the little lad’s race is run, it has been a good one, Jeanie, and he goes out fearlessly, and if not, then he is all right too, and we hope to hold him with us. But when this time comes and it’s the last sleep before dawn, there’s nothing to do but watch and wait.” “But do you think—” Jean hesitated. She could not help feeling he must know what the hope was. “He’s got a fine fighting chance,” said the doctor. “Now, I’m going in with Mrs. Ellis, and you comfort the Judge and brace him up. He’s in the study there.” It was dark in the study. Jean opened the door gently, and looked in. The old Judge sat in his deep, old arm chair by the desk, and his head was bent forward. She did not say a word, but tiptoed over, and knelt beside him, her cheek against his sleeve. And the Judge laid his arm around her shoulders in silence, patting her absent-mindedly. So they sat until out of the windows the garden took on a lighter aspect, and there came the faint twittering of birds wakening in their nests. Jean, watching the beautiful miracle of the dawn, marvelled. The dew lent a silvery radiance to every blade of grass, every leaf and twig. There was an unearthly, mystic beauty to the whole landscape and the garden. She thought of a verse the girls had found once, when they had traced Piney’s name in poesy for Kit’s benefit, one from “The Garden of Proserpine.” Something about the pale green garden, and these lines, “From too much love of living, From joy and care set free.” And just then the old doctor put his head in the door and sang out cheerily, “It’s all right. Billie’s awake.” CHAPTER XVIII THE PATH OF THE FIRE Carlota’s stay was lengthened from one week to three at Jean’s personal solicitation. The Contessa wrote that so long as the beloved child was enjoying herself and benefiting in health among “the hills of rest,” she would not dream of taking her back to the city, while spring trod lightly through the valleys.