o come to an upper floor in the
same building.

"The baby's got the croup," she gasped, "an' he's chokin' to death."

We had not reached croup in our course, and I had no idea what to do,
but I valiantly accompanied the little girl. As we climbed the long
flights of stairs to the top floor I remembered a conversation I had
overheard between two medical students. One of them had said: "If the
child is strangling when it inhales, as if it were breathing through a
sponge, then give it spongia; but if it is strangling when it breathes
out, give it aconite."

When I reached the baby I listened, but could not tell which way it was
strangling. However, I happened to have both medicines with me, so
I called for two glasses and mixed the two remedies, each in its
own glass. I gave them both to the mother, and told her to use them
alternately, every fifteen minutes, until the baby was better. The baby
got well; but whether its recovery was due to the spongia or to the
aconite I never knew.

In my senior year I fell in love with an infant of three, named Patsy.
He was one of nine children when I was called to deliver his mother of
her tenth child. She was drunk when I reached her, and so were two men
who lay on the floor in the same room. I had them carried out, and after
the mother and baby had been attended to I noticed Patsy. He was the
most beautiful child I had ever seen--with eyes like Italian skies and
yellow hair in tight curls over his adorable little head; but he was
covered with filthy rags. I borrowed him, took him home with me, and fed
and bathed him, and the next day fitted him out with new clothes. Every
hour I had him tightened his hold on my heart-strings. I went to his
mother and begged her to let me keep him, but she refused, and after a
great deal of argument and entreaty I had to return him to her. When I
went to see him a few days later I found him again in his horrible rags.
His mother had pawned his new clothes for drink, and she was deeply
under its influence. But no pressure I could exert then or later would
make her part with Patsy. Finally, for my own peace of mind, I had
to give up hope of getting him--but I have never ceased to regret the
little adopted son I might have had.

VII. THE GREAT CAUSE

There is a theory that every seven years each human being undergoes
a complete physical reconstruction, with corresponding changes in his
mental and spiritual make-up. Possibly it was due to thi