"Go right in, s'ah; go right in. Nobody dar but Mistah Goodrich. I put
eway ol' Mose." And he began fumbling at the ropes and strings that
made the harness.
Cameron, burning with impatience and curiosity, stepped to the door
of the cabin and pushed it open. By the dim light of a dirty kerosene
lantern, he could see nothing at first; but a moaning voice from one
end of the room, drew his attention in the right direction. "Is that
you, Brother Cameron?"
He stepped to the side of the cot. "Why Frank, what are you doing here;
and what is the matter?"
"I'm sick," answered the young man, in a feeble voice. "I wanted to
see you so bad. I'm awful glad you came."
"But why are you here in this miserable place? I do not understand."
"Small-pox," muttered the sick man. "Folks in town are afraid.
The nigger takes care of me. He has had it."
The minister involuntarily started back.
"Oh Brother Cameron, don't leave me here alone," cried Frank. "I can't
die like this."
For one brief moment Cameron trembled. He saw his danger and the trap
into which he had fallen. He thought of his work and of his wife, and
took one step toward the door; then stopped.
"Oh, I can't die alone," said the voice again.
Then with a prayer to his God for help, the minister made up his mind.
"Why of course I'll not leave you, Frank," he said cheerily, resuming
his seat. "You know that surely."
And so this man of God wrote his friends in the city that he would be
detained a few days, and stayed by the side of the wretched sufferer
in the old cabin in the lonely woods.
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