There was a thin cry of life in the nursery of the Houston farm house. The mother slept and the new born was in competent hands. Mr. Houston, a farmer more prosperous and enterprising than his somewhat weedy appearance prefigured, beckoned Dr. Anna into the dining-room, where a sleepy but interested "hired girl" had brought hot coffee and sandwiches. The battle had lasted little over three hours, but every moment had been fraught with anxiety for the doctor and the husband. Mrs. Houston's heart had revealed an unsuspected weakness and the baby had not only neglected to head itself towards the gates of life as all proper little marathons should, but had exhibited a state of suspended animation for at least twenty minutes after its arrival at the goal. Dr. Anna dropped into a chair beside the table and covered her face with her hand. "I'm all in, I guess," she murmured, and the farmer put down the coffee pot and ran for the demijohn. "You drink this," he said peremptorily. His own hand was shaking, but he made no verbal attempt to release his strangled emotions until both he and the doctor had drunk of coffee as well as whiskey. Then, when half way through a thick sandwich made of slabs of bread and beef, he began to thank the doctor incoherently. "You are just it," he sputtered. "Just about it. And your poor back must be broke. You doctors do beat me, particularly you women doctors. I'll never say nothin' against women doctors again, though I'll tell you now that although poor little Aggie was dead set on you, I opposed it for awhile--" Dr. Anna was sitting up and smiling. She waved his apologies and protestations aside. "I can't think what came over me to collapse like that. Once or twice lately I have thought I might be getting something. I'll have my blood taken to-morrow. Now, I'll go home and get to bed quick, although that coffee has made me feel as fine as a fiddle." "Well, I needed it too, and for more reasons than you. Say--" Mr. Houston had risen and was pulling nervously at his short and bosky beard. "I got a 'phone from Mrs. Gifning a while ago. You're wanted at the Balfames--bad." Dr. Anna sprang to her feet, her full cheeks pale again. "Enid! What has happened to her?" "Oh, she's all right, I guess. It's Dave--" "Oh, another gastric attack?" "Worse and more of it. He was shot--two or three hours ago, I guess. I didn't ask the time--was in too big a hurry to get back to Aggie--at his own gate, though, I think she said." "Who did it?" "Nobody knows." "Dead?" "No one'll ever be deader." "H'm!" The color had come back to Dr. Anna's tired face and she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm no hypocrite, and I guess you're not either."