“Old man Townsend is sick, so they say,” he announced. “Don’t know what’s the matter with him. So fur’s I’m concerned I don’t much care. Cranky old blow-hard! I hope he’s got the rheumatics and his shoulder gets to be sore as mine was after he chucked me over that hassock. I’d ought to have sued him for assault and battery that time. I would if it hadn’t been for you, Reliance Clark. I might have got some of that money old Cook squeezed out of him.” His half-sister looked at him. “I was talkin’ with Seth Francis yesterday,” she said. “He says he might ship you for that Banks’ fishin’ trip if the rest of his crew would stand for it. He is afraid they wouldn’t. He says they’re pretty fussy about what they have aboard the schooner. If he could use you for bait, he says--but he can’t, the codfish are particular, too.” Millard Fillmore’s mouth was closed. His sister’s attitude toward him was still anything but reassuring. A dozen times during the past month she had hinted that he might have to go to work and earn his own living. It was high time that sort of thing was forgotten. Reliance made her third call at the mansion that afternoon and the sight of Doctor Bailey’s horse and buggy standing by the gate alarmed her. Nabby, however, would give no particulars. “He’s got a cold or somethin’,” she said. “And he just won’t have me let anybody in to see him. I sent for the doctor on my own hook and I know he’ll give me the very Old Harry for doin’ it. Cranky! My good Lord! Oh, dear! And I’m so all alone here, too. Varunas--I presume likely you know it--is workin’ down to the livery stable four days a week now. Cap’n Foster made him take the job. Said there wasn’t enough to keep him busy around here, and there ain’t, of course. He’s here nights and that helps a little, but I feel so dreadful lonesome and--and responsible. If the cap’n should be sick--real sick--I don’t know what I _would_ do. No, no, Reliance, there ain’t any use for you to keep runnin’ here. He won’t see you. I’ll let you know if he gets real bad.” So for three days and nights Reliance waited anxiously. Then, on the morning of the fourth day, she found a note tucked under the door leading to the millinery shop. Varunas had left it on his way to the livery stable. It was from Nabby. “Do come up here soon as ever you can,” Mrs. Gifford had written. “I am about crazy. Please come.” Reliance went, of course. Nabby--a white-faced, nervous Nabby--admitted her to the kitchen and poured into her ears a tale which drove the color from her own cheeks. Foster Townsend was ill, seriously ill, threatened with pneumonia. The doctor was alarmed. He had insisted upon a nurse, but his patient flatly refused to have one in the house.