“Why, my dear fellow, you are absolutely pale this morning! Our country air ought to do better for you than this. Yes, I wish you would go with me. I don’t know exactly what is to be done. If old Simlin is very ill, he can not be moved, and anyhow there is no road leading up that side of the Spring Hill, nothing but a narrow foot-path, which I guess he has worn himself, for nobody else ever goes in that direction. The cabin must have been originally put up by hunters. The place is so lonely and inaccessible, I have often tried in vain to prevail upon him to come down into the village. He is a strange man, almost a hermit in his habits.” “Father, can not I go along with you? Maybe I can do something for him, too, if he is sick.” “You, Helen?” said her father, smiling. “What can you do for such a person? No, no, child, it is no place for you. I do not like to have you go among any of these wretched people.” He stooped and kissed the fair countenance raised so entreatingly to his. A swift expression of pain had come across the younger gentleman’s face as the colonel spoke, but the girl persisted, and her father reluctantly gave his consent. “Well, well, as you will! Tell Margaret to put a few things into a basket with some wine and brandy, and tell Jake to follow us with it immediately. We may need him anyhow, and he has no work to do about the house this morning. I can not spare Hendricks from the foundry, and very likely, if we can not move Simlin, the hut will have to be fixed up a little.” Losing no time, they started on their errand of mercy. The walk was long, but well shaded. Down the hill, along the valley, up the hill, all Nature seemed reveling in an excess of joy. The little song-sparrows, wild with delight, united in a jubilant choir; the blackbirds called, and called, and called; the orioles, in myriad numbers, fluttered their golden wings; and sometimes a chaffinch loitered for a moment in her flight to the far-off wheat fields. It seemed strange that there should be any misery, any suffering. The girl could not realize it until they came out on top of the Spring Hill to the little clearing where the cabin stood, which, in its utter desolation, appeared to overwhelm her. There was no sign of a human presence any where. A silent robin sat idly on the chimney-top, while its mate flitted wistfully over the sunburnt grass. The place was so lonely that the gentle wind seemed to smother a sob. Below, the wide valley stretched away to the remote sky. And in this wretched hovel, on this solitary site, old Simlin lived, like one ostracized from society. “Wait here a moment,” said the colonel, “while I go in first, and I will come and tell you.”