One by one the little knot of men and women followed suit, Fred Trenholm, Nancy Lentz, Mr. Peckett—all who, by the wireless telegraph that, in the country, flashes the news from house to house, had heard of _The Moth’s_ danger, and had come over to help if they could, and—couldn’t. Martha looked from one to the other in surprise. "Well, what do you think o’ that!" she managed to articulate through her chattering teeth, and then could say no more. "Come along home, Martha," urged Sam gently. *CHAPTER XII* At first it seemed as if no one was to be any the worse for the morning’s adventure. As soon as she had attended to the children, had changed her own cold, drenched garments for dry, Martha hastened over to the big house. Tyrrell, the butler, informed her that Mrs. Ronald was resting quietly enough now, but they had been uncommonly anxious about her at the start. The shock had unnerved her. When her husband carried her in, she was crying like a baby. "Well, you know where to find me, if, when she wakes, she seems the least bit ailin’. All you have to do is ring me up, an’ I’ll be over in the shake of a lamb’s tail." But when the day passed, and there was no summons, when supper was over and the children, including Cora and Ma, in bed, Martha could stand it no longer. "I just _got_ to go over, an’ see for myself how the land lays," she explained to Sam. "I know it’s silly, but I just _got_ to." "All right. Come along," said Sam. Martha shook her head. "No, you don’t. Somebody’s needed here in case, while I’m between this an’ the big house, the telephone’d ring." Patient Sam acquiesced at once. "Have it your own way. You’ve earned the right to have notions, and be fidgety if you want to. But no news is good news, an’ what you’ll make by running over there at this hour of night, when they said they’d ’phone if anything was needed, I don’t know." "I’ll sleep better if I see for myself," was all the explanation Martha could give.