"They didn't get any of the milk till last night," the gray-haired,
rather sad-looking doctor told him, "and I got at them early this
morning. Then I suspected the milk at once, and treated them
accordingly. I've been forty years doing this sort of thing, and it's
generally the milk. Dr. Sawyer, next door, is a new man, and doesn't get
hold quite as quick. But he knows more of the science of the thing, and
can make a good analysis."

"You think they have a chance?"

"If this heat will let up a bit" said the doctor, mopping his forehead.
"It's ninety-eight in here; that's enough to kill a sound child."

"Could they be moved?"

"To-morrow, perhaps."

"Mrs. Dooley, could you take your children away to the country
to-morrow, if I find a place for you?"

"It's very little money I have, sir."

"It won't cost you anything. Can you leave your family?"

"There's only Moike. And he'll do very well by himself," he was told.

"Then if the children can go, be ready at 10:15 to-morrow, and you shall
all go up for a couple of weeks to my mother's in Massachusetts. They'll
have plenty of good food there," he explained to the doctor, "grass and