because his father and
mother did, and because he was so little of his age, but I rather think
he was eighteen months old,) had fallen asleep some time before among
his playthings; an uneasy, restless sleep; but of which Mary had been
thankful, as his morning's nap had been too short, and as she was so
busy. But now he began to make such a strange crowing noise, just like
a chair drawn heavily and gratingly along a kitchen-floor! His eyes was
open, but expressive of nothing but pain.

"Mother's darling!" said Mary, in terror, lifting him up. "Baby, try not
to make that noise. Hush, hush, darling; what hurts him?" But the noise
came worse and worse.

"Fanny! Fanny!" Mary called in mortal fright, for her baby was almost
black with his gasping breath, and she had no one to ask for aid
or sympathy but her landlady's daughter, a little girl of twelve or
thirteen, who attended to the house in her mother's absence, as daily
cook in gentlemen's families. Fanny was more especially considered the
attendant of the upstairs lodgers (who paid for the use of the kitchin,
"for Jenkins could not abide the smell of meat cooking"), but just now
she was fortunately sitting at her afternoon's work of darning
stockings, and hearing Mrs. Hodgson's cry of terror, she ran to her
sitting-room, and understood the case at a glance.

"He's got the croup! Oh, Mrs. Hodgson, he'll die as sure as fate. Little
brother had it, and he died in no time. The doctor said he could do
nothing for him--it had gone too far. He said if we'd put him in a warm
bath at first, it might have saved him; but, bless you! he was never
half so bad as your baby." Unconsciously there mingled in her statement
some of a child's love of producing an effect; but the increasing
danger was clear enough.

"Oh, my baby! my baby! Oh, love, love! don't look so ill; I cannot
bear it. And my fire so low! There, I was thinking of home, and picking
currants, and never minding the fire. Oh, Fanny! what is the fire like
in the kitchen? Speak."

"Mother told me to screw it up, and throw some slack on as soon as Mrs.
Jenkins had done with it, and so I did. It's very low and black. But,
oh, Mrs. Hodgson! let me run for the doctor--I cannot abear to hear him,
it's so like little brother."

Through her streaming tears Mary motioned her to go; and trembling,
sinking, sick at heart, she laid her boy in his cradle, and ran to fill
her kettle.

Mrs. Jenkins, having cooked her husband's snug