"
"I am afraid I know very little, my poor Yves," I cried, shaking my head.
"What is the matter with him, Frenchy?" asked Daddy.
"Me not know, monsieur," he answered. "Heem now cry out heem want _la
belle dame_. Heem lofe de yong lady. Seek all day, de poor leetle bye,
an' lie down and cry so moch! An' now heem terreeble red in ze face, an'
so hot, an' speak fonny. An' heem don' want eat noding, noding at all. So
I know mademoiselle she help fix heem leetle girl, de oder day, an' me
tink maybe she tell me what I do. All de oder womans dey know noding at
all, an' I hear Docteur say oder day zey all big fool. Please you
come, mademoiselle."
"I have to go, Daddy," I cried, and caught up my woollen cap and wrapped
myself up in my waterproof.
"I wish you wouldn't, daughter," said poor Daddy. "I am sure it must be
something catching."
"I'm so sorry, Daddy, but I just have to go. I'll try to be back soon."
"But why doesn't he go for Mrs. Barnett?" asked Dad. "She knows all about
sick babies."
"Oh! I don't want her to be sent for. She has those dear little ones of
her own," I said.
Then I kissed him quickly and ran out into the darkness before he could
object any further. The wind just tore at me, and I had to seize
Frenchy's arm as we splashed through the puddles, with heads bent low,
leaning against the storm.
And so we reached the poor little shack Yves calls his home. On the floor
he had placed some pans that caught some of the drippings from the leaky
roof, and a piece of sail-cloth was stretched upon a homemade pallet
covered with an old caribou hide, upon which the poor little fellow was
lying.
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