Dannie reached home as soon as the horse could take them, and under
the doctor's directions all of them began work. Mary did what she
was told, but she did it deliberately, and if Dannie had taken time
to notice her he would have seen anything but his idea of a woman
facing death for any one she ever had loved. Mary's hurt went so
deep, Mrs. Dolan had trouble to keep it covered. Some of the
neighbors said Mary was cold-hearted, and some of them that she was
stupefied with grief.
Without stopping for food or sleep, Dannie nursed Jimmy. He rubbed,
he bathed, he poulticed, he badgered the doctor and cursed his
inability to do some good. To every one except Dannie, Jimmy's case
was hopeless from the first. He developed double pneumonia in its
worst form and he was in no condition to endure it in the lightest.
His labored breathing could be heard all over the cabin, and he
could speak only in gasps. On the third day he seemed a little
better, and when Dannie asked what he could do for him, "Father
Michael," Jimmy panted, and clung to Dannie's hand.
Dannie sent a man and remained with Jimmy. He made no offer to go
when the priest came.
"This is probably in the nature of a last confession," said Father
Michael to Dannie, "I shall have to ask you to leave us alone."
Dannie felt the hand that clung to him relax, and the perspiration
broke on his temples. "Shall I go, Jimmy?" he asked.
Jimmy nodded. Dannie arose heavily and left the room. He sat down
outside the door and rested his head in his hands.
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