Bending over it, she fairly started at the pallor of the face upon the
pillow, from which the dark eyes seemed starting with an expression of
pain and anxiety which set her heart to beating heavily.

"Sairay," whispered that strange voice, "I'm sick--I'm awful sick--in
here."

The hand, already at her side, pressed it more closely, and her brows
contracted with pain.

"O mother! what is it? your lungs? You've taken a dreadful cold."

She nodded; and Sara flew to call Morton, and send him for the doctor,
then heated the flannels her mother asked for, and vainly tried to
soothe the now frightened and crying baby.

It seemed an age till the doctor came stamping in,--a pudgy little man,
with an expression of unquenchable good-humor on his round, florid face.

"Well, well," he said briskly, rubbing his hands before the freshly
kindled blaze, "caught cold, has she? Lungs sore? That's right! Plenty
of hot flannels. Now, let me see."

Having warmed himself, he proceeded to examine the sick woman; and Sara
saw that his face was more serious as he turned away. He gave her
careful directions about the medicines, and said he should look in again
after breakfast (it was now towards morning); then tied his hat down
with an old worsted tippet, and prepared to depart.