"
"What do you mean, Agnes?" exclaimed Mrs. Arnold, glancing anxiously
at her daughter.
"I am going down to Shreveport, to help to nurse those poor perishing
people."
"Agnes!"
"Yes, dear mother. I believe it to be my duty to go and do what little
I can toward alleviating the distress of those stricken sufferers."
"Why, Agnes, dear, you would surely perish yourself."
"O no, mother, you forget how I waited on papa and you when you both
had the fever down in New Orleans."
This was true. Several years before, while the Arnolds had been making
a pleasure tour in the Southern States, they had been seized with the
disorder, and but for the unflagging, heroic devotion of Agnes, they
would most likely have perished.
"No, darling, I could never forget that were I to live a hundred
years. It is because I do remember the horror of that time that I
would not wish you to expose yourself to such another. Besides, what
would I do without you?"
"That is the only subject that gives me any pain, mother; but then God
would take care of you as well as of me, would he not?"
"Yes."
"I know it, mother. You have always taught me that, and I firmly
believe it. God, who sees and notes the fall of even a sparrow, will
not let me fall, except it be His gracious will. No, mother, I feel
that I must go, and you must consent and give me your best blessing.
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