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"Poor chile; she bin sick all spring," and Marta used a bunch of sedge to drive away the flies and mosquitoes that, bass and treble, hovered around the child. "What ails her?" asked Rolf anxiously. "Dot ve do not know," was the reply. "Maybe there's some one here can tell," and Roll glanced at the Indian. "Ach, sure! Have I you that not always told all-vays eet is so.
All-vays, I want sumpin bad mooch. I prays de good Lord and all-vays, all-vays, two times now, He it send by next boat. Ach, how I am spoil," and the good Dutchman's eyes filled with tears of thankfulness. Quonab knelt by the sufferer. He felt her hot, dry hand; he noticed her short, quick breathing, her bright eyes, and the untouched bowl of mush by her bed. "Swamp fever," he said.
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