tack began? Yesterday at four. Ah, far gone, far. The great man soon
vanished, leaving behind him a harmless preparation of aconite and
ipecacuanha.

Mercy had heard all, and her pent-up grief broke out in sobs.

"Oh, to think I shall hear my Ralphie no more, and to know his white
cold face is looking up from a coffin, while other children are playing
in the sunshine and chasing the butterflies! No, no, it can not be; God
will not let it come to pass; I will pray to Him and He will save my
child. Why, He can do anything, and He has all the world. What is my
little baby boy to Him? He will not let it be taken from me!"

Greta's heart was too full for speech. But she might weep in silence,
and none there would know. Mercy stretched across the bed and, tenderly
folding the child in her arms, she lifted him up, and then went down on
her knees.

"Merciful Father," she said in a childish voice of sweet confidence,
"this is my baby, my Ralphie, and I love him so dearly. You would never
think how much I love him. But he is ill, and doctor says he may die.
Oh, dear Father, only think what it would be to say, 'His little face is
gone.' And then I have never seen him. You will not take him away until
his mother sees him. So soon, too. Only five days more. Why, it is quite
close. Not to-morrow, nor the next day, nor the next, but the day after
that!"

She put in many another child-like plea, and then rose with a smile on
her pale lips and replaced the little one on his pillow.

"How patient he is," she said. "He can't say 'Thank you,' but I'm sure
his eyes are speaking. Let me feel." She put her finger lightly on the
child's lids. "No, they are shut; he must be sleeping. Oh, dear, he
sleeps very much. Is he gaining color? How quiet he is! If he would only
say, 'Mamma!' How I wish I could see him!"

She was very quiet for awhile, and then plucked at Greta's gown
suddenly.

"Greta," she said eagerly, "something tells me that if I could only see
Ralphie I should save him."

Greta started up in terror. "No, no, no; you must not think of it," she
said.

"But some one whispered it. It must have been God Himself. You know we
ought to obey God always."

"Mercy, it was not God who said that. It was your own heart. You must
not heed it."

"I'm sure it was God," said Mercy. "And I heard it quite plain."

"Mercy, my darling, think what you are saying. Think what it is you wish
to do. If you do it you will be blind forever."