Only a few weeks old, and thousands of them older than he died
every year! Fear in another form had come to Rachael now--life
seemed all fear.

"Oh, Warren, is he very ill?"

"Pretty sick, dear little chap!"

"But, Warren, you don't think--"

"My darling, I don't know!"

She turned desperately to George Valentine when that good friend
came in his professional capacity at five o'clock.

"George, there's been a change--I'm sure of it. Look at him!"

"You ought to take better care of your wife, Greg," was Doctor
Valentine's quiet almost smiling answer to this. "You'll have her
sick next!"

"How is he?" Rachael whispered, as the newcomer bent over the
baby. There was a silence.

"Well, my dear," said Doctor Valentine, as he straightened
himself, "I believe this little chap has decided to remain with us
a little while. Very--much--better!"

Rachael tried to smile, but burst out crying instead, and clung to
her husband's shoulder.