As if he hadn’t always done as he chose! But what was Louise afraid of? By degrees she told us. For the farmer to be sent for us, there must be some one sick at our house, some one gravely ill. He had said “Madame has sent for you.” Then it wasn’t mamma, it could be no one but father. This was what she conjectured, as she confessed to us. We tried to smile at her fears, comparing her to Abbé Heurtevant who carried thunder about with him and set it off at the least provocation; but by degrees her fear became ours. We waited feverishly for the return of the farmer whom we at once questioned. It was Louise who spoke. “Father is sick, isn’t he, Stephen?” “Ah, Miss, it’s a great misfortune.” “Has he taken the disease?” “It isn’t the disease that he has taken; it’s a chill and fever.” Poor Louise burst into tears, calling upon our father as if he could hear her. We had to comfort her, not without blaming her for giving way, the farmer himself joining in. “The young lady is mistaken. Master Michael is strong. There’s many a one has had chills and fever who is fat and healthy to-day.” The thought never occurred to me that there could be any real danger. My self absorption prevented my thinking so. What an absurd presentiment that poor Louise was torturing herself with! I could see my father there, before the entrance, just as the carriage started. His panama, slightly tilted, cast a shadow over half his face. The other, in full sunlight, was radiant with life. He was giving brief orders and hastening us into the vehicle because he was waited for at the mayor’s office. How well he could command, and how every one hastened to obey him! I was the only one who thought of withdrawing myself from his power, his ascendency. He held himself upright like an oak in the forest, one of those tall fine oaks that never shed their leaves till the new ones come, that the tempest can never shake, that seem to stand all the straighter and grow tougher by resistance. I could hear his voice ringing out, his voice saying Forward! as in battle. I could not admit that that strength could be overcome. I had counted upon that strength. I must needs count upon it, because later, when I judged best, and had achieved my liberty I wanted to go back, of my own free will, and show my father a little love. Yet I recalled to mind the day when I had heard him utter in mother’s room a lament over me: “_That child is no longer ours_....” But I would not dwell on that. No, no, I must exaggerate nothing. Mother had recalled us because the abating epidemic no longer threatened danger, and because father, being ill, would be glad to see us; she had sent for us for these reasons and for none other....