But Mary Amber herself came to the door, with pleasant forgetfulness of her old friend’s recent coolness, and tried to draw her into the hall. This Miss Marilla firmly declined, however. She threw her apron over her head and shoulders as a concession to Mary’s fears for her health, and broke out: “Oh, don’t talk about me, Mary. Talk about _him_. He’s gone! I thought he was asleep; and I went up to see if he was ready for his dinner, and he’s _gone_! And he’s sick, Mary. He’s not able to stand up. Why, he’s had a fever. It was a hundred and three for two days, and only got down to below normal this morning for the first time. He isn’t fit to be out, either, and that little thin uniform with no overcoat!” The tears were streaming down Miss Marilla’s sweet Dresden-china face, and Mary Amber’s heart was touched in spite of her. She came and put her arm around Miss Marilla’s shoulder, and drew her down the steps and over to her own home, closing the door carefully first so that her mother need not be troubled about it. Mary Amber always had tact when she wanted to use it. “Where was he going, dear?” she asked sympathetically, with a view to making out a good case for the soldier without Miss Marilla’s bothering further about him. “I--do-don’t know!” sobbed Miss Manila. “He just thought he ought not to stay and bother me. Here! See his note.” “Well, I’m glad he had some sense,” said Mary Amber with satisfaction. “He was perfectly right about not staying to bother you.” She took the little crumpled note and smoothed it out. “O my dear, you don’t understand,” sobbed Miss Marilla. “He’s been such a good, dear boy, and so ashamed he had troubled me! And really, Mary, he’ll not be able to stand it. Why, you ought to see how little clothes he had! So thin, and cotton underwear! I washed them and mended them, but he ought to have had an overcoat.” “Oh, well, he’ll go to the city and get something warm, and go to a hospital if he feels sick,” said Mary Amber comfortably. “I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s a soldier. He’s stood lots worse things than a little cold. He’ll look out for himself.” “Don’t!” said Miss Marilla fiercely. “Don’t say that, Mary! You don’t understand. He is _sick_, and he’s all the soldier-boy I’ve got; and I’ve _got_ to go after him. He can’t be gone very far, and he really isn’t able to walk. He’s weak. I just can’t stand it to have him go this way.” Mary Amber looked at her with a curious light in her eyes. “And yet, Auntie Rill, you know it was fine of him to do it,” she said with a dancing dimple in the corner of her mouth. “Well, I see what you want; and, much as I hate to, I’ll take my car and scour the country for him. What time did you say he left?” “O Mary Amber!” smiled Miss Marilla through her tears. “You’re a good girl. I knew you’d help me. I’m sure you can find him if you try. He can’t have been gone over an hour, not much; for I’ve only fixed the chicken and put my bread in the pans since I left him.”