"Not even undressed! How long has she been like this?"
"For several hours, Peter says, but growing steadily worse. I've sent for the doctor, but he hasn't come. He"—
She interrupted him with:
"Send for another. The nearest possible. It's croup. Short and quick, usually. Michael, run in for Mary. Now, Peter, heat some blankets. Find me her night-clothes. Warm that bed. A foot-tub of hot water. Any oil in the house? Epicac? Any other household remedies?"
"There's the medicine for the gout, madam," suggested Mr. Smith.
"Oh, bother the gout. That's nothing. This is—serious. There, Mary, lend a hand. Michael, run for Doctor Wilson. Hurry. If you can't find him, then the next one. There are seven of them around this square, perched like vultures, seeking whom they may devour. As a rule, I ignore the whole crowd, but I'm thinking of this little one's mother now. Hurry, lad," directed Mrs. Merriman.
