Finally, when they did get started for home, Jack rode ahead like the wind, calling back to her companion not to try to follow her unless he liked, as she knew he had some other matters on the place to look after. By making unusual speed she hoped to reach home a few minutes before six, when Vive was put into bed and Jimmie ate his supper before following her. Olive was waiting on the porch when Jack came into sight and went out to meet her before she had dismounted. "What is it, Olive?" Jack asked sharply, as soon as she saw her. "Which one of the children is it? What has happened?" For it is a curious fact that a mother often feels this premonition of danger. "There is nothing to be seriously frightened about, Jack," Olive replied quietly, "only little Vive isn't very well. Frieda and I had her with us for a little while this afternoon and she seemed somewhat languid. Frieda thought she had a little fever, so Ruth saw her and we have sent for the doctor. He will be here in another few moments." Jack made no comment except to go swiftly indoors, leaving Olive to find some one to care for her horse. She knew, of course, that Olive was telling her as little as possible. Jimmie had been taken away to the other house, so Vive now occupied alone the big room at the Lodge which had belonged to Jack and Frieda when they were little girls. It was simply furnished with a few rugs and wicker chairs and bright pictures and three little white iron cots. In the smallest Vive lay apparently asleep on her pillow. But Jack saw at once she was not asleep. Her exquisite little face was flushed a bright scarlet, her lids heavy and closed, and the strangest fact was that one of her little hands twitched unceasingly. Now and then she opened her golden brown eyes, but without seeing or knowing anyone. When the doctor arrived he made no effort to disguise the seriousness of Vive's condition. If she were to live it would be a fight and one of the hardest of all kinds, since they must simply wait and watch, with very little possible to do. For some unknown reason, perhaps because there had been too much excitement from the trip, too much notice taken of her by too many people, Vive had meningitis. But Jack was never a coward and it is scarcely worth saying that a mother's courage, so long as she thinks it can help her child, is the purest courage of all. As soon as she heard the verdict, Jack went quickly to her own room and put on a white cotton dress. Afterwards, until Vive was better or worse, she would never leave her side for a moment. But it is one thing to be brave when a shock comes and one has health and strength to meet it. It is another to keep up that courage hour after hour, day after day, when the strength is gone and the body and mind unconsciously sick with weariness.