in turn each figure in the room. First the doctor sitting
with hands resting on his knees, his aquiline nose and brow clearly
outlined against the shadowy background in the gold chalk of the
dancing flames, his black evening clothes in strong contrast to the
high white of the coverlet, framing the child's face like a nimbus.
Next the bent body of the wife, her face in half-tones, her stout
shoulders in high relief, and behind, swallowed up in the gloom, out of
reach of the fire-. gleam, the straight, motionless form of the
fisherman, standing with folded arms, grim and silent, his unseen eyes
fixed on his child.

Far into the night, and until the gray dawn streaked the sky, this
vigil continued; the doctor, assisted by Fogarty and the wife, changing
the poultices, filling the child's lungs with hot steam by means of a
paper funnel, and encouraging the mother by his talk. At one time he
would tell her in half-whispered tones of a child who had recovered and
who had been much weaker than this one. Again he would turn to Fogarty
and talk of the sea, of the fishing outside the inlet, of the big
three-masted schooner which had been built by the men at Tom's River,
of the new light they thought of building at Barnegat to take the place
of the old one--anything to divert their minds and lessen their
anxieties, stopping only to note the sound of every cough the boy gave
or to change the treatment as the little sufferer struggled on fighting
for his life.

When the child dozed no one moved, no word was spoken. Then in the
silence there would come to their ears above the labored breathing of
the boy the long swinging tick of the clock, dull and ominous, as if
tolling the minutes of a passing life; the ceaseless crunch of the sea,
chewing its cud on the beach outside or the low moan of the outer bar
turning restlessly on its bed of sand.

Suddenly, and without warning, and out of an apparent sleep, the child
started up from his pillow with staring eyes and began beating the air
for breath.

The doctor leaned quickly forward, listened for a moment, his ear to
the boy's chest, and said in a quiet, restrained voice:

"Go into the other room, Mrs. Fogarty, and stay there till I call you."
The woman raised her eyes to his and obeyed mechanically. She was worn
out, mind and body, and had lost her power of resistance.

As the door shut upon her Doctor John sprang from the stool, caught the
lamp from the wall, handed it to Fogarty,