, while Effie saw the
elder ones safely through the process of dressing. She took the baby on
her knee, and, removing his night-clothes, put him into his bath, and
dressed him herself quickly and expeditiously. She then carried him into
her mother's room.

Mrs. Staunton had spent a troubled night.

"Is that you, Effie?" she exclaimed, looking at her daughter; "and oh,
there is baby--how sweet he looks! What a splendid nurse you are, my
darling, and what a wonderful comfort to me! Give me my dear little man.
I will take care of him while you see about breakfast."

"How are you this morning, mother?" asked Effie. "Have you had a good
night?"

"Yes, pretty well. I had one or two bad dreams. I could not help
thinking of poor Mrs. Watson and that heart-trouble your father spoke
about. I wonder how she is this morning."

"Now, mother dear," said Effie, "you know father said you were not to
dwell upon that--you must turn your thoughts away from illness of every
sort. I thought we might go for a little drive in the gig this morning."

"But your father will want the gig."

"No, that's just it, he won't."

"What do you mean? Surely he will go out as early as he can to see Mrs.
Watson?"

"No, mother," said Effie, "he won't--not to-day. I have something to
tell you. Now, please don't be frightened; there is nothing to be
frightened about."

Mrs. Staunton was half sitting up in bed; she had thrown a little pale
blue shawl round her shoulders, and held the pretty baby in her arms.
She was a remarkably good-looking woman, a really young-looking woman
for her age, but weakness was written all over her--the weakness of a
frail although loving spirit, and the weakness of extreme bodily
illness, for she was ill, far more ill than her children knew. The
greatest anxiety of the honest doctor's life was connected with his
wife's physical condition. Effie looked at her mother now, and something
of the fear which dwelt in her father's heart seemed to visit her.

"I have something to tell you," she said, "but it is nothing that need
make you the least bit afraid. Father has left you in my charge. He says
I am to look after you, and to do all in my power to help you."

"But what can you mean, Effie? Has your father gone away?"

"Not really away," replied Effie, "for he is close to us, and can come
back if necessary at any moment; but the fact is this: If all is well,
father is not coming home for two or three days. In one way you