Even Miracle Land can't transform
weakness to health in two hours."
"I must go over to the office. Mrs. Hartley said she wanted to give me
some instructions."
Carol rose quickly and stepped outside the cottage.
Crossing the mesa she met three men who stopped her with a gesture.
They were of sadly similar appearance, tall, thin, shoulders stooped,
hair dull and lusterless, eyes dry and bright. Carol thought at first
they were brothers, and so they were,--brothers in the grip of the
great white plague.
"Are you a lunger?" ejaculated one of them in astonishment, noting the
light in her eyes and the flush in her cheeks.
"A--lunger?"
"Yes,--have you got the bugs?"
"The bugs!"
"Say, are you chasing the cure?"
"Of course not," interrupted the oldest of the three impatiently.
"There's nothing the matter with her, except that she's a lunger's
wife. Your husband is the minister from St. Louis, isn't he?"
"Yes,--I am Mrs. Duke."
"I am Thompson. I used to be a medical missionary in the Ozarks. How
is your husband?"
"Oh, he is doing nicely," she said brightly,--the brightness assumed to
hide the fear in her heart that some day David might look like that.
Thompson laughed disagreeably.
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