He is not counting Charlie's pulse, for he has dropped his hand, and it
lies carelessly, but oh, how thin! over the edge of the bed.

He shakes his head mournfully at your mother; and she springs forward,
dropping your hand, and lays her fingers upon the forehead of the boy,
and passes her hand over his mouth.

"Is he asleep, Doctor?" she says in a tone you do not know.

"Be calm, madam." The Doctor is very calm.

"I am calm," says your mother; but you do not think it, for you see her
tremble very plainly.

"Dear madam, he will never waken in this world!"

There is no cry,--only a bowing down of your mother's head upon the body
of poor dead Charlie!--and only when you see her form shake and quiver
with the deep, smothered sobs, your crying bursts forth loud and
strong.

The Doctor lifts you in his arms, that you may see that pale
head,--those blue eyes all sunken,--that flaxen hair gone,--those white
lips pinched and hard!--Never, never will the boy forget his first
terrible sight of Death!

In your silent chamber, after the storm of sobs has wearied you, the
boy-dreams are strange and earnest. They take hold on that awful
Visitant,--that strange slipping away from life, of which we know so
little, and yet know, alas, so much! Charlie that was your brother, is