"Are you suffering, precious?"

"I don't know."

"There, let us warm your feet. Don't take them away, pet. See, you
breathe easily now."

"Thank God!" says the man "that we are all doctors."

The afternoon wanes.

"Georgie Day, mamma."

"Yes, lamby."

"I want him to have my sleeve-buttons. He can play base-ball, not
two-old-cat. He can play real base-ball."

"Yes, Georgie shall come to see you to-morrow."

Lockwin goes to the speaking tube.

"Go and get Dr. Floddin at once. Tell him to come and stay with us.
Tell him we have difficulty in keeping the child warm."

The sun has poured into the window and gone on to other sick chambers.
The flaxseed and stramonium seem like reminders of the past stage of
the trouble. Richard Tarbelle, never before in a room where the tide
of life was low, looks down on Davy.