on his shoulders, on the threshold.

The young girl walked in, sat down in a large leathern chair, and was
taking out her purse to pay her driver when a little fat man, with a
very red face and bushy black hair, came flying through the hall,
carrying a child in his arms. He was followed by two or three sobbing
children and the girl whom Miss Featherstone had already seen. "My dear
mees," he said, never stopping until he reached the governess, "see
this leetle enfant, this cher petit Henri. He has already one
contortion--spasm--what you call it?--and I fear he goes to have one
other. Ma chere mademoiselle, have you some experience? Is it that you
know what we shall do?"

The child lay pale and unconscious in the arms of the distressed little
foreigner. Miss Featherstone tore off her gloves; her purse, unheeded,
fell on the floor; she led the way into the nearest room, which proved
to be the dining-room, the helpless group following. "Bring a tub of
hot water for his feet," she said in calm, decided tones. She was
seated, and had taken the child in her arms.--"Now, monsieur"--to the
Frenchman--"will you be kind enough to give me some ice from that
pitcher on the sideboard behind you?"

She drew a delicate little handkerchief from her pocket, and, putting
pieces of ice in it, held it to the child's head. "Some one," she
continued, "take off his shoes and stockings."

Her composure restored a degree of order, although no one seemed to
have recovered their senses sufficiently to obey her as to the child's
shoes. The boy who had acted as her driver knelt down and proceeded to
accomplish it. When the poor little feet were up to the knees in hot
water and the child was evidently reviving, she said, "The doctor
should be sent for immediately. As this boy has a horse and wagon at
the door, it would be best to send him. What is the name of your family
physician?"

"Doctor Harris."

"You know where he lives?"

"Oh yes, ma'am, very well."

"Stop a moment: some one write a line, so that there shall be no
mistake."

The foreigner flung up his hands with a gesture of despair. "It is so
difficile for me to write l'Anglais--" he began.

With the child lying on her left arm she opened her bag with her
right--the little driver, the most collected person besides herself of
the party, holding it up to her--found a scrap of paper and a pencil
and wrote a brief, urgent appeal to the physician to come immediately,
mentioning that