"I am Sara Olmstead, a King's daughter," touching the cross on her
breast; "can I do anything for you?"
"I'm glad you've come," said the woman; "I've did what I could, but I've
got to go to my work now. I'm meat cook in a restaurant, and I must git
there by four; it's 'most that now; can you stay?"
"Yes," said Sara. "Please tell me all about her, the symptoms, and so
on. Was it a sunstroke?"
"Might be--set down, Miss, you look tuckered out yourself," handing the
one splint-bottomed rocker. "I don't know much more'n you. They picked
her up down on the corner this morning and brought her into the hall,--
thought 'twas a fit, I guess. I come in while they was all tearin'
around like a passel of geese, and when they didn't seem any place for
her lower down, told 'em they might bring her to my room. I'm about the
only one that rooms alone, I guess."
"And hasn't she spoken at all?"
"Yes, she come to and told us her name, but that's about all. She grew
flighty pretty soon; and now she either lies still and breathes hard,
like you see her now, or mutters suthin', I can't make out what. If you
need any help, Mis' Maloney's a good, kind woman, three doors to the
left; she'll come in a minute, 'less the old man's drunk and she has to
stay to watch the children; and here's her medicines.
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