in the garden.

Toward midnight the pulse fell rapidly, the breathing become quieter,
and the whole nature seemed to sink. Mercy listened with her ear bent
down at the child's mouth, and a smile of ineffable joy spread itself
over her face.

"Bless him, he is sleeping so calmly," she said.

Greta did not answer.

"The 'puss' and the 'man' don't darken his little life so much now,"
continued Mercy, cheerily.

"No, dear," said Greta, in as strong a voice as she could summon.

"All will be well with my darling boy soon, will it not?"

"Yes, dear," said Greta, with a struggle.

Happily Mercy could not read the other answer in her face.

Mercy had put her sensitive fingers on the child's nose, and was
touching him lightly about the mouth.

"Greta," she said in a startled whisper, "does he look pinched?"

"A little," said Greta, quietly.

"And his skin--is it cold and clammy?"

"We must give him another hot flannel," said Greta.

Mercy sat at the bedside, and said nothing for an hour. Then all at
once, and in a strange, harsh voice, she said:

"I wish God had not made Ralphie so winsome."

Greta started at the words, but made no answer.

The daylight came early. As the first gleams of gray light came in at
the window, Greta turned to where Mercy sat in silence. It was a sad
face that she saw in the mingled yellow light of the dying lamp and the
gray of the dawn.

Mercy spoke again.

"Greta, do you remember what Mistress Branthet said when her baby died
last back-end gone twelvemonth?"

Greta looked up quickly at the bandaged eyes.

"What?" she asked.

"Well, Parson Christian tried to comfort her, and said, 'Your baby is
now an angel in Paradise,' and she turned on him with 'Shaf on your
angels--I want none on 'em--I want my little girl.'"

Mercy's voice broke into a sob.

Toward ten o'clock the doctor came. He had been detained. Very sorry to
disoblige Mrs. Ritson, but fact was old Mr. de Broadthwaite had an
attack of lumbago, complicated by a bout of toothache, and everybody
knew he was most exacting. Young person's baby ill? Feverish, restless,
starts in its sleep, and cough?--Ah, croupy cough--yes, croup, true
croup, not spasmodic. Let him see; how old? A year and a half? Ah, bad,
very. Most frequent in second year of infancy. Dangerous, highly so.
Forms a membrane that occludes air passages. Often ends in convulsions,
and child suffocates. Sad, very. Let him see again. How long since the
at