The woman was almost exhausted when they reached Maarda's home, but
strong tea and hot, wholesome food revived her; but fever burned
brightly in her cheeks and eyes. The woman was very ill, extremely
ill. Maarda said, "You must go to bed, and as soon as you are
there, I will take the canoe and go for a doctor. It is two or
three miles, but you stay resting, and I'll bring him. We will put
the Tenas Klootchman beside you in--" she hesitated. Her glance
travelled up to the wall above, where a beautiful empty cradle
basket hung, with folded silken "blankets" and disused beaded
bands.
The woman's gaze followed hers, a light of beautiful understanding
pierced the fever glare of her eyes, she stretched out her hot hand
protestingly, and said, "Don't put her in--that. Keep that, it is
yours. She is used to being rolled only in my shawl."
But Maarda had already lifted the basket down, and was tenderly
arranging the wrappings. Suddenly her hands halted, she seemed to
see a wee flower face looking up to her like the blossom of a
russet-brown pansy. She turned abruptly, and, going to the door,
looked out speechlessly on the stretch of sea and sky glimmering
through the tree trunks.
For a time she stood.
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