What fiend prompted young Goodrich to take such a course cannot be imagined. But let us, in charity, try to think that he was driven to it by the fright and horrors of his condition. Mrs. Cameron was away in the far east visiting her parents, and when the minister received the letter, he made hurried preparations, and telling Dick that he might be gone several days, left the city that evening. At a little way-station named in the letter, he found the negro, with his poor old horse and rickety wagon waiting him. "Is you de parson?" asked the colored man. "Yes, I am a minister," Cameron answered, wondering much at the appearance of the darkey and his strange turn-out. And as he climbed up to the board seat, he questioned his guide rather sharply, but the only answer he could get was: "Mistah Goodrich dun tol' me ter hol' ma tongue er he'd hant me, an' I'm shor goin' t' do hit. Golly, dis yere chile don't want no ghostes chasin' ob him 'roun'. No sah. I'se done fotch yo' t' Mistah Goodrich en he kin tell yo' what he's er mind ter." Needless to say, all this did not add to Cameron's peace of mind, and the moments seemed hours as the poor old horse stumbled on through the darkness of the night. At last they entered the timber, and how the negro ever guided his crippled steed past the trees and fallen logs and rocks was a mystery; but he did; and at last they saw the light of the cabin. "Dar's de place, sah. Dis yere's de horspital. We dun got yere at las'." And the colored Jehu brought the horse to a stand-still near the tumbled down smoke-house. "Go right in, s'ah; go right in. Nobody dar but Mistah Goodrich. I put eway ol' Mose." And he began fumbling at the ropes and strings that made the harness. Cameron, burning with impatience and curiosity, stepped to the door of the cabin and pushed it open. By the dim light of a dirty kerosene lantern, he could see nothing at first; but a moaning voice from one end of the room, drew his attention in the right direction. "Is that you, Brother Cameron?" He stepped to the side of the cot. "Why Frank, what are you doing here; and what is the matter?" "I'm sick," answered the young man, in a feeble voice. "I wanted to see you so bad. I'm awful glad you came." "But why are you here in this miserable place? I do not understand." "Small-pox," muttered the sick man. "Folks in town are afraid. The nigger takes care of me. He has had it." The minister involuntarily started back. "Oh Brother Cameron, don't leave me here alone," cried Frank. "I can't die like this." For one brief moment Cameron trembled. He saw his danger and the trap into which he had fallen. He thought of his work and of his wife, and took one step toward the door; then stopped. "Oh, I can't die alone," said the voice again. Then with a prayer to his God for help, the minister made up his mind. "Why of course I'll not leave you, Frank," he said cheerily, resuming his seat. "You know that surely."