the least danger; but
you must be careful as to what he eats. Nuts and raisins are not a
particularly wholesome diet for a child three years old."

She looked about inquiringly, and did not seem the least surprised as
her eye fell on Miss Featherstone.

The tutor, still irate from his alarm, exclaimed, "You take la bonne,
madame. I am occupy with mes eleves: then I am not in his care."

Mrs. Pinckney, who was not an irritable woman, took no notice of this
implied reproach: "What is to be done with him to-night, Doctor Harris?
Can you sleep here?" As he shook his head, "You'll come the first thing
in the morning? Oh, doctor, can I go to bed and sleep comfortably? Do
you assure me that there is not the slightest danger of a recurrence of
those dreadful spasms?"

When the distressed mother spoke of sleeping comfortably a smile, which
all his admiration for the fair widow could not restrain, flickered
over Doctor Harris's face: "I was about to give this young lady"--and
he turned to Miss Featherstone--"directions for the night, as we didn't
expect you home: she has been very kind and efficient, and was going to
take care of the child; but now--"

He was interrupted by Mrs. Pinckney crossing the room, seizing Miss
Featherstone's hand and kissing her with effusion: "My dear Miss
Featherstone--your name is Featherstone, is it not?--I have no words to
thank you sufficiently."

"Oh, the chere mees!" burst forth the little Frenchman. "I was so full
of frighten I not know what to do, which way to turn myself; and she,
so calm, so _smooth_," he said, hesitating for a word, and apparently
discomfited when he found it--"she take the helm, she issue the orders:
every one obey, and the child is saved." After this peroration he
glanced around as if for applause.

"I was about to say," resumed Doctor Harris, "that, now that the nurse
has returned, Miss Featherstone, who has been travelling all day, had
better have some dinner and be sent to bed."

"Oh, certainly," replied Mrs. Pinckney; "and now that I'm so much
relieved I'd like some dinner myself.--Mr, Brown, do you know what
prospects there are of our having any dinner?"

The tutor shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands with a
deprecatory gesture: "I know not, my dear madame. Les enfants et moi,
we have our dinner at two o'clock: we did not comprehend that madame
would return to-night," as a happy apologetic afterthought.

Mrs. Pinckney glanced at a little watch whic