One day I received a message from Mrs. Dewey, desiring me to call
and see two of her children who were sick. On visiting them--the two
youngest--I found them seriously ill, with symptoms so like
scarletina, that I had little question in my mind as to the
character of the disease from which they were suffering. My second
visit confirmed these fears.
"It is scarlet fever?" said Mrs. Dewey, looking at me calmly, as I
moved from the bed-side after a careful examination of the two
little ones.
I merely answered--
"Yes."
There was no change in her countenance.
"They are both very ill."
She spoke with a slow deliberateness, that was unusual to her.
"They are sick children," said I.
"Sick, it may be, unto death."
There was no emotion in her voice.
I looked at her without replying.
"I can see them die, Doctor, if that must be."
Oh, that icy coldness of manner, how it chilled me!
"No hand but mine shall tend them now, Doctor. They have been long
enough in the care of others--neglected--almost forgotten--by their
unworthy mother. But in this painful extremity I will be near them.
Pages:
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285