"Of course I worried. I wish you wouldn't take them long rides. Oh, I guess it's lumbago--mostly--but seems like it ain't, either. The pain seems to be mostly in my side." She stirred restlessly and moaned again.
"What's Phoebe been doing for it? You don't seem to have any fever, mommie--and that's a good thing. I'll go fix you one of those dandy spice poultices. Had any supper, mommie?"
"Oh, I couldn't eat. Phoebe made a hop poultice, but it's awful soppy."
"Well, never mind. Your dear daughter is on the job now. She'll have you all comfy in just about two minutes. Head ache, mum? All right. I'll just shake up your pilly and bring you such a dandy spice poultice I expect you'll want to eat it!" Billy Louise's voice was soft and had a broody sweetness when she wished it so, that soothed more than medicine. Her mother's eyes closed wearily while the girl talked; the muscles of her face relaxed a little from their look of pain.
Billy Louise bent and laid her lips lightly on her mother's cheek. "Poor old mommie! I'd have come home a-running if I'd known she was sick and had to have nasty, soppy stuff."
In the kitchen a very different Billy Louise measured spices, and asked a question now and then in a whisper, and breathed with a repressed unevenness which betrayed the strain she was under.
"Tell John to saddle up and go for the doctor, Phoebe, and don't let mommie know, whatever you do. This isn't her lumbago at all. I don't know what it is. I wonder if a hot turpentine cloth wouldn't be better than this? I've a good mind to try it; her eyes are glassy with fever, and her skin is cold as a fish. You tell John to hurry up. He can ride Boxer. Tell him I want him to get a doctor here by to-morrow noon if he has to kill his horse doing it."
"Is she that bad?" Phoebe's black eyes glistened with consternation. "She's groaned all day and shook her head like this all time."
"Oh, stop looking like that! No wonder she's sick, if you've stood over her with that kind of a face on you. You look as if someone were dead in the house!"
"I'm skeered of sick folks. Honest, it gives me shivers."
"Well, keep out then. Make some fresh tea, Phoebe--or no, make some good, strong coffee. I'll need it, if I'm up all night. Make it strong, Phoebe. Hurry, and--" She stopped short and ran into the bedroom, called there by her mother's cry of pain.