“Over a week,” said Conway. “And now,” he added, “you have talked too much already. You are tired and feverish. Is there any one whom you would like to have notified of your position?” “No.” “Have you no friends who may be anxious about you?” “No--none.” Conway stared at his patient. It seemed incredible to him that any one should be so friendless. The sick man turned his head on the pillow, muttering ungraciously the while, and Doctor Conway left the room to give further directions as to the broths and jellies that were to help Mr. Clinton Percival regain his strength. Norine was in the kitchen, with her dimpled arms buried deep in the bread trough, and her supple form incased in an immense gingham apron. “How is he?” she inquired, with some anxiety. “Better, decidedly better,” returned Conway; “well enough to be very cross already, so I would not advise you to go near him.” “My!” cried Norine, with her pretty eyebrows raised expressively, “has he been so cross as that?” “He is somewhat impatient,” replied Conway gravely, passing his hand slowly over his head as he spoke. “Perhaps not more so than we should expect. He told me his name was Clinton Percival, and seemed ungraciously anxious to be moved as soon as possible.” “Poor fellow!” said Norine sympathetically. “He has been so very ill, we must not expect too much from him at first. Did you find out where he belongs?” she asked, struggling with a mass of dough meanwhile. “That is the strangest part of it. If he told the truth, it is a wonder he survived at all. He claims to have crossed the mountain from near Ebensburg. How he did it in that tremendous storm I can’t imagine. He must have wandered thirty or forty miles.” Norine raised her hands and eyebrows in wonder at this achievement, and Mrs. Higgins, who had just come in, gave it as her opinion that “a man what thet wouldn’t kill waz borned to be hung, sure. Yer’d oughter a-brung ’im to our place, doc,” continued the old woman after this free expression of her opinion. “He couldn’t a-done no harm there.” “Why, what harm can he do here?” inquired Norine laughingly. The old woman shook her head ominously, but made no reply. “Perhaps Mrs. Higgins has found her patient a little cross at times,” hazarded Conway. Mrs. Higgins stopped in her work to emit a scornful snort. “Yer don’t suppose I keer fer his tantrums, do yer?” she inquired scornfully. “’Tain’t thet at all. O’ course, he’s a little peevish jest when he’s a-gettin’ well--thet’s nat’ral. All men feel so arter they’s been a-shet up fer awhile--leastways, _my_ man allers does. But, gosh! I’m too old ter let thet worry me enny,” and she wound up with an energetic snort. Conway smiled gravely, and Norine laughed a jolly, ringing little laugh. “What _is_ the matter with him, then?” she inquired practically. “Why are you afraid of him?” “I ain’t afeared on him,” retorted the old woman indignantly. Then she added gravely: “I’m a heap sight more afeared o’ you.”