breath. If I live a century I'll not forget his look when he said:
"I answered, 'No worse. But the doctor?'
"Oh! those blessed words! It actually seemed as if my child were saved already. If you but knew how folks love their little ones. I kissed the darling, I kissed his father, I laughed, I cried, and I no longer felt the faintest doubt. It is by God's mercy that such gleams of hope are sent to strengthen us in our trials. It was very foolish, too; for something might easily have prevented the doctor's coming, after all.
"'You found him at home, then?' I inquired of my husband.
"Then he told me, in an undertone, what he had done, stopping every now and then to wipe his face and gather breath:
"'I ran to the Children's Hospital, which he manages, hoping to find him there. The porter showed me a low door at the end of the courtyard. I knocked and was let into a room full of young fellows, all smoking, talking and laughing away at a great rate.'
"Ah! the wretches! and with dying folks all round 'em."
"Don't say that until you know all. 'What do you want here, friend?' says a tall one in a white apron and black sleeves, and who, seeing