Bobby of the Labrador

  CHAPTER XIV

  VISIONS IN DELIRIUM

  There came a terrible day and night when Bobby's life hung in thebalance. A burning fever was upon him. His reason wandered, and hetalked of strange things.

  "Mamma! Mamma!" he called, and time and again he plead: "Uncle Robert,give me a drink of water! Uncle Robert, I'm so thirsty! Oh, I'm sothirsty!"

  And then it would be Abel Zachariah or Mrs. Abel, or Jimmy, or SkipperEd himself, who was addressed. Every subject under the sun was runningthrough Bobby's poor, delirious mind. Sometimes he spoke in Eskimo,sometimes in English. "Father!" he would cry, "see this cod. He's a fineone! We'll have a fine catch this season." And so he would ramble alongabout the fishing for a time, and then perhaps grow silent, only toresume, upon some other thought.

  After each brief silence there was something new. Perhaps he was warningJimmy to run, or declaring that he knew he could get the bear if he onlyhad time to load. Or perhaps he was telling Mrs. Abel that he was tired,oh, so tired, and begging her to sing a lullaby to him as she used to dowhen he was little.

  Skipper Ed, foreseeing this state of affairs, had removed his otherpatients, who were now convalescing, to his own tent, where he gave themstrict instructions as to their conduct, and such casual attention as hecould. But for the most part he remained with Bobby. Indeed, during theday and night of Bobby's delirium he scarcely left Bobby's side for aninstant. And more than once during this period of vigil and fear andforeboding Skipper Ed fell upon his knees and poured out his soul to theGreat Master in an appeal for his young friend's life.

  It was near sunrise on the second morning of his delirium that Bobbysuddenly ceased to speak and lay very quiet--so quiet that an awfuldread came into Skipper Ed's heart. He leaned over the still form andwith fearful apprehension listened for breathing that he could not hear,and felt for heart beats that were too faint for his discovery.

  And then again he fell upon his knees, for he was a God-fearing man andhe had the love of God in his heart, and he prayed that if it were nottoo late God in His goodness would again place the breath of life intoBobby and return him to them. He prayed aloud, and as he prayed thetears ran down his weather-beaten cheeks.

  At last he rose. Bobby's face had assumed an unnatural, peaceful repose.The color had left the cheeks that had been fever flushed for so long.The lips were partly open, and there was no movement or sign of life.

  Skipper Ed staggered to the tent front, and thrusting the flaps asidestaggered out. The world lay quiet and serene, as though it held nogrief. The waves lapped gently against the rocks. The sky was afire withradiant beauty.

  For a long while Skipper Ed stood there, his face drawn and haggard,his tall form bent, uncertain which way to turn or what to do. Presentlythe fire faded from the sky, a breeze sent a ripple over the calmwaters, and the big sun rose out of the sea, as though to ask him why hemourned. And then he whispered, "Thy will be done. If it is Thy will totake him from us, oh God, give us the strength and courage to accept ourbereavement like men."

  Then it was that a new, strange peace came upon Skipper Ed, and hereentered the tent, to stoop again over Bobby's couch, and as he did sohis heart gave a bound of joy, and a lump came into his throat. Bobbywas breathing--ever so softly--but breathing.

  With the passing minutes the steady, regular breathing became moreapparent, the pulse asserted itself and grew stronger, and at the end ofan hour, when Bobby at last opened his eyes Skipper Ed saw that reasonhad returned to them.

  "I've--been--asleep--dreaming--queer--dreams," Bobby murmured faintly.

  "Yes," said Skipper Ed, "you've been asleep."

  "I--feel--very--weak."

  "Yes, you're very weak, for you've been very sick, lad," and Skipper Ed,choking back his emotion, added cheerily: "But there's better luck foryou now, lad. Better luck."

  "May--I--have--a--drink?"

  Skipper Ed poured some water into a tin cup, and supporting Bobby'shead, held the cup to his parched lips.

  "Father--and mother--and Jimmy--where--are--they?" Bobby feebly asked,for even in sickness his eye was quick to note their absence.

  "They're in my tent. Nearly well, but not well enough to go out and getchilled, though they're ready enough for it, and tired enough of stayingin," said Skipper Ed.

  And then, wearied with the exertion, Bobby fell into deep andstrength-restoring slumber, and Skipper Ed joined the others to cheertheir hearts with the good news that Bobby's illness had passed itsclimax, and to rejoice with them over a meager breakfast.

  With the passing days Bobby grew rapidly stronger, and the others wereable to be out and at their duties again. And in due time Bobby, too,was out on the rocks enjoying the sunlight, with his old vigor dailyasserting itself.

  But hours of sunshine were few now, and more often than not the sky wasleaden and somber, and the wind blew raw and cold, and already theclouds were spitting snow. The fishing season had passed almost beforethey realized it. The weeks of idleness had been costly ones, and whenthe time came for them to return to the cabins at the head of Abel'sBay, and make ready for winter, they had garnered little of the harvestthat had promised so well.

  "Every season can't be a good one for us," remarked Skipper Ed as theystruck their camp. "Better luck next year; better luck. And we should bemighty thankful we're all alive and all well. That's good luck--goodluck, after all."

  But they were to be denied many things that winter that the fish theyhad not caught would have brought them. The little luxuries in whichthey had always indulged occasionally were not to be thought of; andpork, which is almost a necessity, was to become a rarity and a luxuryto them, and there were to be times when even the flour barrel would beempty.

  But this was a part of the ups and downs of their life, and one and allthey accepted the condition cheerfully, for who, they said, does nothave to endure privations now and again? And they had always done verywell in other years, and the needs of life are small; and so they had nocomplaint to make. Comfort and privation are, after all, measuredlargely by contrast, and what to them would have been comfortable andluxurious living would have seemed to you and me little less thanunendurable hardship.

  Bobby and Jimmy were as glad, now, to return to the snug cabins as theyhad been to set out for Itigailit Island in the summer, and as theylooked back over the few short weeks, the July day when they had theiradventure with the bear seemed to them a long, long while ago.

  And when the boats were loaded Bobby ran up to say good-bye for aseason to the cairn and the dead man mouldering beneath it, and to thewide open sea, and the misty horizon out of which he had drifted, andthen they hoisted sail and were off.

  Another long winter with its bitter cold and drifting snow, its joys andits hardships and adventures, was at hand.