Patience, frightened by her difficult breathing, would let no one but
Lydia touch her. Under Mrs. Norton's supervision, she packed the baby
in hot water bottles while Lizzie heated water and stoked the fires
till the stove doors glowed red.

Amos came back with the doctor about nine o'clock. Patience was in a
stupor. The doctor sent Lydia away while he made his examination. The
child clenched her fists and walked up and down the livingroom, cheeks
scarlet, eyes blazing. Suddenly she dropped on her knees by the window
and lifted her clasped hands to the stars.

"God! God, up there!" she called. "If you let her die, I'll never
pray to you again! Never! I warned You when You let mother die!"

She remained a moment on her knees, staring at the stars while
fragments of Sunday School lore flashed through her mind. "Our Father
who art in heaven," she said. "No, that won't do. Suffer little
children to come unto me. Oh, no, no."

The door opened and Lizzie came out, tears-running down her cheeks.
Lydia flew to her.

"They say I got to tell you. Diphtheritic croup--her lungs is full--no
hope."

Lydia struck the kind old hand from her shoulder and dashed out of the
house. She ran through the snow to a giant pine by the gate and beat
her fists against it for how long she did not know. Pain in her
bruised hands and the intense cold finally brought her to her senses.