Doctor Carey bent over the bed. Gently he slipped a practised hand under the Harvester's and made the next stroke down the white arm. Gradually he took possession of the thin hands and his touch fell on the masses of dark hair. As the Harvester arose the doctor took the seat. “You go on!” he ordered gruffly. “I'll do better alone.” The Harvester stepped back. The doctor's touch was easy and the Girl lay quietly for an instant, then she moved restlessly. “You must be still now,” he said gently. “The moon is up, the lake is all white, and the birds are flying all around. Lie still or you'll make yourself worse. Stiller than that! If you don't you can't hear things courting. The ducks are quacking, the bull frogs are croaking, and everything. Lie still, still, I tell you!” “Oh good Lord, Doc!” groaned the Harvester in desperation. The Girl wrenched her hands free and her head rolled on the pillow. “Harvester! Harvester!” she cried. The doctor started to arise. “Sit still!” commanded the Harvester. “Take her hands and go to work, idiot! Give her more sedative, and tell her I'm coming. That's the word, if she realizes enough to call for me.” The doctor possessed himself of the flying hands, and gently held and stroked them. “The Harvester is coming,” he said. “Wait just a minute, he's on the way. He is coming. I think I hear him. He will be here soon, very soon now. That's a good girl! Lie still for David. He won't like it if you toss and moan. Just as still, lie still so I can listen. I can't tell whether he is coming until you are quiet.” Then he said to the Harvester, “You see, I've got it now. I can manage her, but for pity sake, hurry man! Take the car! Jim is asleep on the back seat----Yes, yes, Girl! I'm listening for him. I think I hear him! I think he's coming!” Here and there a word penetrated, and she lay more quietly, but not in the rest to which the Harvester had lulled her. “Hurry man!” groaned the doctor in a whispered aside, and the Harvester ran to the car, awakened the driver and told him he had a clear road to Onabasha, to speed up. “Where to?” asked the driver. “Dickson, of the First National.” In a few minutes the car stopped before the residence and the Harvester made an attack on the front door. Presently the man came. “Excuse me for routing you out at this time of night,” said the Harvester, “but it's a case of necessity. I have an automobile here. I want you to go to the bank with me, and get me an address from your draft records. I know the rules, but I want the name of my wife's Chicago physician. She is delirious, and I must telephone him.” The cashier stepped out and closed the door. “Nine chances out of ten it will be in the vault,” he said. “That leaves one that it won't,” answered the Harvester. “Sometimes I've looked in when passing in the night, and I've noticed that the books are not always put away. I could see some on the rack to-night. I think it is there.”