Judging from Mrs. Doyle's account, the doctor seemed inclined to make light of the case, until he had made a careful investigation, and then he looked very grave, and asked where the patient had come from, and how long she had been in this country. Hearing that it was nearly a year since she crossed the ocean, and that she had worked for eight months in Squantown Paper Mill, he looked still more puzzled, and finally said:-- "I really can't account for it, but it certainly is a case of ship-fever; a very bad case, too." Mrs. Doyle's consternation was extreme. She muttered something about having her children to care for, shut the door tight, and went hastily downstairs, leaving the doctor and the delicately bred young girl to decide what was to be done in the situation. Doctor Bolen looked at his companion in somewhat quizzical perplexity. Here was a patient dangerously ill with a contagious disorder, at the top of a house swarming with human beings. She must have care and close watching, and the only person within reach to give it was a girl whose gay light-heartedness and instability were well known in the town. Had she known what to do, she was too young and delicate for such a task. And should she take the infection--what then? Would the wealthy mill-owner thus expose his youngest child, and, as every one knew, his idol? "I must get hold of some responsible person," he said at last, aloud, but more to himself than to his companion. "But whom? I don't know of a nurse that would come even from the city. Besides, it would cause a panic to do so, and a panic is the most likely thing in the world to cause the infection to spread. Mrs. Doyle, it is clear, is frightened out of her senses, and she can't be expected to risk her children and her livelihood for a stranger. One of the Irishwomen across the way might take care of her for money; but then she'd talk, and the whole gang would be frightened. I don't really know which way to turn." But Etta answered instantly with the intuitive perception for which she was noted:-- "There's Eunice." Why had he not thought of it? Eunice Mountjoy, with her calm, cool head, her perfect unselfishness, her entire devotion to the good of others; Eunice, who was known and blessed wherever throughout the village there was sickness, suffering, or want; Eunice, who had many a time helped him out of a perplexity,--Eunice was the very person. But how should he get hold of her? "I will go," said Etta, to whom he expressed the wonder. "No! You are too young, and at the same time too old, to go through this manufacturing village alone after dark." "Then you go, and I will stay here, for I suppose Gretchen must not be left alone." "Of course not. She may become delirious at any moment, and there is no saying what she may do. She does not know us now. Would not you be afraid to stay with her?" "No," said Etta, steadily. "Tell me just what to do and I will do it."