Seth | Page 7

of death lay upon it.
Entering Janner's shanty the following morning, Seth found the family
sitting around the breakfast-table in ominous silence. The meal stood
untouched, and even Bess looked pale and anxious. All three glanced
toward him questioningly as he approached, and when he sat down
Janner spoke: "Hasna tha' heerd th' news?" he asked.
"Nay," Seth answered, "I ha' heerd nowt."
Bess interposed hurriedly: "Dunnot yo' fear him, feyther," she said.
"Happen it isna so bad, after aw. Four or live foak wur takken down ill
last neet, Seth, an' th' young mester wur among 'em; an' theer's them as
says it's cholera."
It seemed as if he had not caught the full meaning of her words; he only
stared at her in a startled, bewildered fashion. "Cholera!" he repeated
dully.
"Theer's them as knows it's cholera," said Janner, with gloomy
significance. "An' if it's cholera, it's death;" and he let his hand fall
heavily upon the table.
"Ay," put in Mrs. Janner in a fretful wail, "fur they say as it's worse i'
these parts than it is i' England--th' heat mak's it worse--an' here we are

i' th' midst o' th' summer-toime, an' theer's no knowin' wheer it'll end. I
wish tha'd takken my advice, Janner, an' stayed i' Lancashire. Ay, I
wish we wur safe at home. Better less wage an' more safety. Yo'd niwer
ha' coom if yo'd listened to me."
"Howd thy tongue, mother," said Bess, but the words were not ungently
spoken, notwithstanding their bluntness. "Dunnot let us mak' it worse
than it need be. Seth, lad, eat thy breakfast."
But there was little breakfast eaten. The fact was, that at the first
spreading of the report a panic had seized upon the settlement, and
Janner and his wife were by no means the least influenced by it A
stolidly stubborn courage upheld Bess, but even she was subdued and
somewhat awed.
"I niwer heerd much about th' cholera," Seth said to her after breakfast.
"Is this here true, this as thy feyther says?"
"I dunnot know fur sure," Bess answered gravely, "but it's bad enow."
"Coom out wi' me into th' fresh air," said the lad, laying his hand upon
her sleeve: "I mun say a word or so to thee." And they went out
together.
There was no work done in the mine that day. Two of three new cases
broke out, and the terror spread itself and grew stronger. In fact, Black
Creek scarcely comported itself as stoically as might have been
expected. A messenger was dispatched to the nearest town for a doctor,
and his arrival by the night train was awaited with excited impatience.
When he came, however, the matter became worse. He had bad news to
tell himself. The epidemic had broken out in the town he had left, and
great fears were entertained by its inhabitants. "If you had not been so
entirely thrown on your own resources," he said, "I could not have
come."
A heavy enough responsibility rested upon his shoulders during the
next few weeks. He had little help from the settlement. Those who were

un-stricken looked on at the progress of the disease with helpless fear:
few indeed escaped a slight attack, and those who did were scarcely
more useful than his patients. In the whole place he found only two
reliable and unterrified assistants.
His first visit was to a small farm-house round the foot of the mountain
and a short distance from the mine. There he found the family huddled
in a back room like a flock of frightened sheep, and in the only
chamber a handsome, bright-haired young fellow lying, upon the bed
with a pinched and ominous look upon his comely face. The only
person with him was a lad roughly clad in miner's clothes--a lad who
stood by chafing his hands, and who turned desperate eyes to the door
when it opened. "Yo're too late, mester," he said--"yo're too late."
But young as he was--and he was a very young man--the doctor had
presence of mind and energy, and he flung his whole soul and strength
into the case. The beauty and solitariness of his patient roused his
sympathy almost as if it had been the beauty of a woman; he felt drawn
toward the stalwart, helpless young figure lying upon the humble couch
in such apparent utter loneliness. He did not count much upon the lad at
first--he seemed too much bewildered and shaken--but it was not long
before he changed his mind. "You are getting over your fear," he said.
"It wasna fear, mester," was the answer he received; "or at least it
wasna fear for mysen'."
"What is your name?"
"Seth Ray nor, mester. Him an' me," with a gesture toward the bed,
"comn from