wife, I shall go at once for Dr. Channing, an English physician who has been highly recommended to me."
"Do, dear husband, and urge him to come at once," she answered, in a tone full of anxiety.
He left the room, returning with the physician within half an hour, to find the little girl asleep on her mother's breast.
"Ah, I hope she is not going to be very ill," said the doctor, taking gentle hold of her tiny wrist. "She seems easy now, and her papa tells me the spasm was of very short duration."
She woke, apparently free from suffering, allowed her papa to take her, that mamma's weary arms might rest, and in the course of the afternoon even got down from his knee, and played about the room for a little while, but languidly, and was soon quite willing to be nursed again, "papa, grandpa, and Mamma Rose," as she lovingly called her young and fair step-grandmother, taking turns in trying to relieve and amuse her.
She was a most affectionate, unselfish little creature, and though longing to lay again her weary little head on mamma's breast, and feel the enfolding of mamma's dear arms, gave up without a murmur, when told that "poor mamma was tired with holding so big a girl for so long," and quietly contented herself with the attention of the others.
As the early evening hour which was the children's bed-time drew near, Elsie took her little girl again on her lap.
"Mamma, pease talk to Elsie," pleaded the sweet baby voice, while the curly head fell languidly upon her shoulder, and a tiny hand, hot and dry with fever, softly patted her cheek.
"What about, darling?"
"'Bout Jesus, mamma. Do He love little chillens? do he love wee Elsie?"
The gentle voice that answered was full of tears. "Yes, darling, mamma and papa, and dear grandpa too, love you more than tongue can tell, but Jesus loves you better still."
"Mamma, may Elsie go dere?"
"Where, my precious one?"
"To Jesus, mamma; Elsie want to go see Jesus."
A sharp pang shot through the young mothers heart, and her arms tightened their clasp about the little form, while the hot tears chased each other adown her cheeks. One fell on the child's face.
"What! mamma ky? Mamma don't want Elsie to go see Jesus? Den Elsie will stay wis mamma and papa. Don't ky, Elsie's mamma;" and feebly the little hand tried to wipe away her mother's tears.
With a silent prayer for help to control her emotion, Elsie cleared her voice, and began in low, sweet tones the old, old story of Jesus and His love, His birth, His life, His death.
"Mamma, Elsie do love Jesus!" were the earnest words that followed the close of the narrative. "Say prayer now, and go bed. Elsie feel sick. Mamma, stay wis Elsie?"
"Yes, my precious one, mamma will stay close beside her darling as long as she wants her. You may say your little prayer kneeling in mamma's lap; and then she will sing you to sleep."
"Jesus like Elsie do dat way?"
"Yes, darling, when she's sick."
Mamma's arms encircled and upheld the little form, the chubby hands were meekly folded, and the soft cheek rested against hers, while the few words of prayer faltered on the baby tongue.
Then, the posture changed to a more restful one, the sweet voice still full of tears, and often trembling with emotion, sang the little one to sleep.
Laying her gently in her crib, Elsie knelt beside it, sending up a petition with strong crying and tears; not that the young life might be spared, unless the will of God were so, but that she might be enabled to say, with all her heart, "Thy will be done."
Ere she had finished, her husband knelt beside her asking the same for her and himself.
They rose up together, and folded to his heart, she wept out her sorrow upon his breast.
"You are very weary, little wife," he said tenderly, passing his hand caressingly over her hair and pressing his lips again and again to the heated brow.
"It is rest to lay my head here," she whispered.
"But you must not stand;" and sitting down he drew her to the sofa, still keeping his arm about her waist. "Bear up, dear wife," he said, "we will hope our precious darling is not very ill."
She told him of the child's words, and the sad foreboding that had entered her own heart.
"While there is life there is hope, dearest," he said, with assumed cheerfulness. "Let us not borrow trouble. Does He not say to us, as to the disciples of old, 'It is I, be not afraid'?"
"Yes; and she is His; only lent to us for a season; and we dare not rebel should He see fit to recall His own," she answered, amid her tears. "Oh, Edward, I am so glad we indulged her this morning in her wish to play with my jewels!"
"Yes; she is the most precious of them all," he said with emotion.
Aunt Chloe, drawing near, respectfully suggested that it might be well to separate the children, in case the little girl's illness should prove to be contagious.
"That is a wise thought, mammy," said Elsie. "Is it not, Edward?"
"Yes, wife; shall we take our little daughter to our own bedroom, and leave Eddie in possession of the nursery?"
"Yes, I will never leave her while she is ill."
Weeks of anxious solicitude, of tenderest, most careful nursing, followed; for the little one was very ill, and for some time grew worse hour by hour. For days there was little hope that her life would be spared, and a solemn silence reigned through the house; even the romping, fun-loving Horace and Rosie, awe-struck into stillness, and often shedding tears—Horace in private, fearing to be considered unmanly, but Rosie openly and without any desire of concealment—at the thought that the darling of the house was about to pass away from earth.
Rose was filled with grief, the father, and grandfather were almost heart-broken. But the mother! That first night she had scarcely closed an eye, but continually her heart was going up in earnest supplications for grace and strength to meet this sore trial with patience, calmness, and submission.
And surely the prayer was heard and answered; day and night she was with her suffering little one, watching beside its crib, or holding it in her arms, soothing it with tender words of mother love, or singing, in low sweet tones, of Jesus and the happy land.
Plenty of excellent nurses were at hand, more than willing to relieve her of her charge; but she would relinquish it to no one; except when compelled to take a little rest that her strength might not utterly fail her. Even then she refused to leave the room, but lay where the first plaintive cry, "Mamma," would rouse her and bring her instantly to her darling's side.
At times the big tears might be seen coursing down her cheek, as she gazed mournfully upon the baby face so changed from what it was; but voice and manner were quiet and composed.
Her husband was almost constantly at her side, sharing the care, the grief and anxiety, and the nursing, so far as she would let him. Rose, too, and Mr. Dinsmore, were there every hour of the day, and often in the night, scarcely less anxious and grief-stricken than the parents, and Mr. Dinsmore especially, trembling for the life and health of the mother as well as the child.
At length came a day when all knew and felt that wee Elsie was at the very brink of the grave, and the little thread of life might snap asunder at any moment.
She lay on her pillow on her mother's lap, the limbs shrunken to half their former size, the face, but lately so beautiful with the bloom of health, grown wan and thin, with parched lips and half-closed, dreamy eyes.
Mr. Travilla sat close beside them, with cup and spoon in hand, now and then moistening the dry lips. Chloe, who had stationed herself a little behind her mistress to be within call, was dropping great tears on the soldier's stocking in her hand.
Mr. Dinsmore came softly in and stood by the little group, his features working with emotion. "My darling," he murmured, "my