SHIP-FEVER.

Presently Gretchen spoke. Her voice was thick, her accent even more foreign than usual, and at first the listener could not understand the words. But she put her ear close down to the bed and made out:

“Miss Etta, am I going to die?”

“I don’t know,” said Etta, bewildered; “I hope not.”

“I’m not afraid,” said the German, “but but it looks all so strange and dark. You didn’t use to tell us about Jesus, and I couldn’t rightly understand the minister; but don’t it say here,” putting her hand upon the Bible by her side, “that he will save everybody that comes to him?” Her teacher nodded. “Coming to him is asking him, isn’t it?” Another nod. “Then, please, Miss Etta, ask him for me. I can’t. I can’t seem to think. Ask him now.”

Poor Etta! never in her life had she been so confused. She had only just learned to pray for herself. She had not yet overcome the reticence which we all feel concerning our own interest in spiritual things sufficiently to tell her own sister of her experience and purpose how could she bring herself to do this hard thing which her scholar asked of her? But the scholar had a human soul, and that soul might be very near to eternity. How could she refuse to do this thing which, by the very nature of her position toward her, the scholar had a right to ask?

Then an idea struck her, and opening her hymn-book, for she had expected to attend the evening service after ascertaining the cause of her scholar’s absence, she knelt close to the window, and in the fast-fading light read in a tone of reverent supplication the hymn commencing,

“Just as I am, without one plea,
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou biddest me come to Thee,

Oh, Lamb of God, I come!”

Every word of the hymn was prayer, and Etta felt grateful for this help in doing what would have otherwise seemed to her impossible. She threw her whole soul into the last line of each verse, and could not but hope that Gretchen, who lay quite still now, though saying nothing, was following and saying in her heart,

“Oh, Lamb of God, I come!”

After this there was silence and darkness, and Etta continued to kneel with her face hidden on the window-sill, praying silently that God would indeed save this soul, teaching it that which heretofore she had been unable and unworthy to teach. The effort at obedience to what was so evidently her duty had greatly strengthened the girl; she felt that God was with her in the still room, and the glad joy of those who against their own inclinations work for him began to spring up in her soul.

The doctor and Mrs. Doyle found her thus, and springing to her feet, Etta came over to the bed to hear what the former thought about Gretchen.

Judging from Mrs. Doyle’s account, the doctor seemed inclined to make light of the case, until he had made a careful investigation, and then he looked very grave, and asked where the patient had come from, and how long she had been in this country. Hearing that it was nearly a year since she crossed the ocean, and that she had worked for eight months in Squantown Paper Mill, he looked still more puzzled, and finally said:

“I really can’t account for it, but it certainly is a case of ship-fever; a very bad case, too.”

Mrs. Doyle’s consternation was extreme. She muttered something about having her children to care for, shut the door tight, and went hastily downstairs, leaving the doctor and the delicately bred young girl to decide what was to be done in the situation.

Doctor Bolen looked at his companion in somewhat quizzical perplexity. Here was a patient dangerously ill with a contagious disorder, at the top of a house swarming with human beings. She must have care and close watching, and the only person within reach to give it was a girl whose gay light-heartedness and instability were well known in the town. Had she known what to do, she was too young and delicate for such a task. And should she take the infection what then? Would the wealthy mill-owner thus expose his youngest child, and, as every one knew, his idol?

“I must get hold of some responsible person,” he said at last, aloud, but more to himself than to his companion. “But whom? I don’t know of a nurse that would come even from the city. Besides, it would cause a panic to do so, and a panic is the most likely thing in the world to cause the infection to spread. Mrs. Doyle, it is clear, is frightened out of her senses, and she can’t be expected to risk her children and her livelihood for a stranger. One of the Irishwomen across the way might take care of her for money; but then she’d talk, and the whole gang would be frightened. I don’t really know which way to turn.” But Etta answered instantly with the intuitive perception for which she was noted:

“There’s Eunice.”

Why had he not thought of it? Eunice Mountjoy, with her calm, cool head, her perfect unselfishness, her entire devotion to the good of others; Eunice, who was known and blessed wherever throughout the village there was sickness, suffering, or want; Eunice, who had many a time helped him out of a perplexity, Eunice was the very person. But how should he get hold of her?

“I will go,” said Etta, to whom he expressed the wonder.

“No! You are too young, and at the same time too old, to go through this manufacturing village alone after dark.”

“Then you go, and I will stay here, for I suppose Gretchen must not be left alone.”

“Of course not. She may become delirious at any moment, and there is no saying what she may do. She does not know us now. Would not you be afraid to stay with her?”

“No,” said Etta, steadily. “Tell me just what to do and I will do it.”

“But you might take the infection. Have you thought of that?”

“God will take care of me,” said she, with a rising color; and the doctor, remembering how he had found her, thought that perhaps he could not do better than to leave her under such protection.

He was gone a long time, a very long time, it seemed to Etta, whose patient became very restless and needed constantly to be soothed and coaxed back to bed when she sprang up and insisted in German on going to her mother. Her teacher, at such times, bathed her face with the warm water the doctor had brought, or gave her a sip of cold water which had been left when the tea-tray was carried away, spoke to her in soothing tones, and finally sang hymns, which seemed to quiet her better than anything else. She had sung all she knew and was commencing the repertoire over again, when a heavy step, followed by a lighter one, came along the passage, and presently Dr. Bolen appeared, followed, not by Eunice, as her sister had expected, but by Katie’s mother, Mrs. Robertson! There was no time for questionings. The doctor gave Mrs. Robertson his directions, and then, leaving the patient to her, he took the young girl’s arm and led her from the room, down the stairs, and out into the street, where the cool night air seemed wonderfully refreshing.

“I would not have exposed you thus,” he said, “if there had been any other way. Do you feel very tired, very much exhausted?”

“Oh, no,” she said bravely, for the air had greatly revived her. “I don’t believe it will hurt me a bit. It’s time I learned to do something besides amuse myself, you know. I’ve never been of much use in the world yet, but I mean to be.”

“You have great capacities and opportunities for usefulness,” said he, gravely, “but you know none of us is sufficient for these things.”

“I am asking God to help me,” she said in a low tone. “Don’t you think he will?”

“No one ever sought his help in vain. I am glad you are setting out in the right way. All success be with you. Now you must attend to my directions and obey me exactly. As soon as you get home take off every garment you have on; throw away or burn up everything that can’t be washed, take a warm bath, and go to sleep as soon as you can, and, remember, you are not to go near my patient again till I give you permission. Will you promise?”

Then he told her how sensibly Eunice had planned that Mrs. Robertson, who often went out to nurse the sick, should be engaged to take care of Gretchen; that to-morrow a certain empty house belonging to Mr. Mountjoy should be fitted up as a temporary hospital, and the sick girl moved there that the battle of life and death might be fought where there were not crowds of people to take the infection. He also cautioned Etta not to spread a report concerning the nature of Gretchen’s disease, as a panic might result which would be not only deleterious to her father’s business interests, but also disastrous to the lives of multitudes of the employees of the mill.

By this time they had reached the door of Etta’s home, and Dr. Bolen bade the girl good-night, after reiterating his directions.

Eunice came to her sister’s room that night after she was in bed to see if the doctor’s orders had been complied with. She gave her such a caress as her undemonstrative nature rarely gave way to, and it somehow opened Etta’s heart and mouth as well. A long talk followed, and Eunice heard a great deal that made her very happy to hear. Etta begged her pardon for the many times she had refused obedience to one standing toward her almost in the position of a mother, and promised to be more docile and helpful for the future. Both felt that the sisterly bond which had been so weak between them was linked afresh to-night, and that they were now sisters in reality because they were one in Christ.

The next day Eunice’s plan was fully carried out. The vacant house, which had been for some months without a tenant, was swept out and furnished with a few necessary articles, and Gretchen, now entirely delirious, was taken there in a close carriage, and Mrs. Robertson established as resident nurse. The good woman fretted and grumbled a good deal at leaving her home and her children, whom, of course, she could not see for a long time, but she was a good woman in spite of her grumbling. She was a very experienced nurse, and here was service for the Master from which she dared not turn away. Katie, assisted by Tessa, was fully competent to manage the house and cook what they and the boys needed to eat, so she resolutely accepted the trust.

Eunice and Etta went down to the empty house early in the morning, and both worked hard, with a woman who had been hired to do so, to get the rooms in readiness, but when all was prepared, they went home, for Dr. Bolen said there was no use for either to be unnecessarily exposed to infection. He did not want more patients than were sent him in the natural course of events.

Great pains were taken to keep the whole matter quiet. Katie and Tessa and the boys were cautioned not to speak about it, and the removal of the patient was effected during the forenoon when all the factory “hands” were safe in the mill. But the precautions were useless. Before the next night there were four more patients in the temporary hospital, all from the rag-room, and the consternation was extreme. Many refused to work, and the mill was in danger of being forced to stop just in the middle of filling some very important contracts, when the doctor, taking his own life in his hands, as doctors must, made a thorough investigation of the rag-room, where all the cases had occurred, and found the contagion to be in a bale of rags imported from Ireland, which had not received the usual overhauling before being brought to the mill. These were all collected and burned, and the room thoroughly fumigated, the operatives receiving full wages for the days they were thus shut out from work, and one good result of the fever was that henceforth the bales were all opened and smoked in a separate building before they ever entered the mill at all.

The contagion did not spread any farther after this, and the hands returned without more delay to the mill. Mr. Mountjoy sent to the city for an experienced hospital nurse, and promised to pay all the expenses of the illness, in addition to the wages of those who were thus prevented from earning anything. The “hospital” was supplied from the kitchen of the “great house,” and both Eunice and her young sister found full occupation in the preparation of dainties and food for the sick.

The interest in the five sick girls was intense, and when one a poor, sickly little thing died, every one felt as though death had come very close, and many were compelled to listen to the voice which said:

“Prepare to meet thy God.”