When the minister's wife opened the door, a hot, close, foul smell rushed forth to meet her. Upon the kitchen stove a large pot of pig's food was boiling, and the steam and smell from the pot made the atmosphere of the room overpoweringly fetid. Off the kitchen or living-room were two small bedrooms, in one of which lay Macdonald Dubh. Kirsty met the minister's wife with a warm welcome. She helped her off with her hood and coat, patting her on the shoulder the while, and murmuring words of endearment. “Ah, M'eudail! M'eudail bheg! and did you come through the night all the way, and it is ashamed that I am to have sent for you, but he was very bad and I was afraid. Come away! come away! I will make you a cup of tea.” But the minister's wife assured Kirsty that she was glad to come, and declining the cup of tea, went to the room where Macdonald Dubh lay tossing and moaning with the delirium of fever upon him. It was not long before she knew what was required. With hot fomentations she proceeded to allay the pain, and in half an hour Macdonald Dubh grew quiet. His tossings and mutterings ceased and he fell into a sleep. Kirsty stood by admiring. “Mercy me! Look at that now; and it is yourself that is the great doctor!” “Now, Kirsty,” said Mrs. Murray, in a very matter-of-fact tone, “we will just make him a little more comfortable.” “Yes,” said Kirsty, not quite sure how the feat was to be achieved. “A little hot something for his inside will be good, but indeed, many's the drink I have given him,” she suggested. “What have you been giving him, Kirsty?” “Senny and dandylion, and a little whisky. They will be telling me it is ferry good whatever for the stomach and bow'ls.” “I don't think I would give him any more of that; but we will try and make him feel a little more comfortable.” Mrs. Murray knew she was treading on delicate ground. The Highland pride is quick to take offense. “Sick people, you see,” she proceeded carefully, “need very frequent changes--sheets and clothing, you understand.” “Aye,” said Kirsty, suspiciously. “I am sure you have plenty of beautiful sheets, and we will change these when he wakes from his sleep.” “Indeed, they are very clean, for there is no one but myself has slept in them since he went away last fall to the shanties.” Mrs. Murray felt the delicacy of the position to be sensibly increased. “Indeed, that is right, Kirsty; one can never tell just what sort of people are traveling about nowadays.” “Indeed, and it's true,” said Kirsty, heartily, “but I never let them in here. I just keep them to the bunk.” “But,” pursued Mrs. Murray, returning to the subject in hand, “it is very important that for sick people the sheets should be thoroughly aired and warmed. Why, in the hospital in Montreal they take the very greatest care to air and change the sheets every day. You see so much poison comes through the pores of the skin.”