"No extrys," cheerfully assured the little comforter. "The city
doctor'll take keer of Iry and bring the medicines. We hev laid by some
sence we got the church wash. It'll tide us over till Iry gits well. We
all need a vacation from work, anyhow."
At the beginning of the next week a ten-dollar bill came from Colette,
"to buy jellies and things for Iry," she wrote. A similar contribution
came from John Meredith.
"We air on Easy Street onct more!" cried Amarilly joyfully.
"I hate to take the money from them," sighed Mrs. Jenkins.
"We'll make it up to them when we kin work agin," consoled Amarilly.
"Better to take from friends than from the city. It won't be fer long.
Iry seems to hev took it light, the doctor said."
This diagnosis proved correct, but it had not occurred to Amarilly in
her prognostications that the question of the duration of the quarantine
was not entirely dependent upon Iry's convalescence. Like a row of
blocks the children, with the exception of Flamingus and Amarilly, in
rapid succession came down with a mild form of the fever. Mrs. Jenkins
and Amarilly divided the labors of cook and nurse, but the mainstay of
the family was the Boarder. He aided in the housework, and as an
entertainer of the sick he proved invaluable. He told stories, drew
pictures, propounded riddles, whittled boats and animals, played "Beggar
my Neighbor," and sang songs for the convalescent ward.
When the last cent of the Jenkins's reserve fund and the contributions
from the rector and Colette had been exhausted, the Boarder put a
willing hand in his pocket and drew forth his all to share with the
afflicted family. There was one appalling night when the treasury was
entirely depleted, and the larder was a veritable Mother Hubbard's
cupboard.
"Something will come," prophesied Amarilly trustfully.
Something did come the next day in the shape of a donation of five
dollars from Mr. Vedder, who had heard of the prolonged quarantine.
Amarilly wept from gratitude and gladness.
"The perfesshun allers stand by each other," she murmured proudly.
This last act of charity kept the Jenkins's pot boiling until the
premises were officially and thoroughly fumigated. Again famine
threatened. The switch remained open to the Boarder, and he was once
more on duty, but he had as yet drawn no wages, one morning there was
nothing for breakfast.
"I'll pawn my ticker at noon," promised the Boarder, "and bring home
something for dinner."