wful mother!" she said, as her eyes fell on the face of the lady
who was at this moment pressing Mrs. Stein's hand, while tears were
running, unheeded, down her cheeks.

The carriage rolled away. Fred returned to his book; but he had no
chance to go on with the description of the frog, for his mother,
greatly excited over the sight of the suffering child and the anxious
mother, came to talk it over with her sister, with whom she consulted
about everything that took place in the family, so that the household
would have been as much at a loss without "aunty" as without father or
mother. Fred saw that this was not his opportunity; so, exacting a
promise from his aunt that she would give him a chance with his frog
just before bed-time, he took himself off.

Then Mrs. Stein told her sister all about her painful interview with
Mrs. Stanhope. The child, she said, was so pale and transparent-looking
that she seemed already to belong more to heaven than to earth; but the
mother would not believe it, and had eagerly explained, in a burst of
tears, that it was only the fatigue of the journey which made Nora look
so ill, and that she was sure that the mountain air would soon restore
her darling to health. Was she trying to deceive herself?

While Mrs. Stein was speaking, the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard,
and she hurried out to meet her husband and to tell him of Mrs.
Stanhope's arrival. The doctor hastened away on foot to pay a visit to
his new patient. Not until late in the evening did he return; long after
the children were safe in their beds. Fred, by the way, had persevered
till he had secured his aunt long enough to give her a thorough account
of the appearance of the "green or water-frog." It had been no easy
task, for each of the children had some special need of her that
evening, and his mother, too; and even Kathri asked for "one word"; but
Fred was not to be cheated, and he came out triumphant at last.

The doctor sat down hungry at the supper-table, and not one word did he
speak to his expectant wife and sister, until he had satisfied his
appetite. He shook his head doubtfully, in answer to their questions
about Nora.

"There is nothing to build upon," he said; "the little plant has no
strength. It is not a case of failing health, but of utter want of
vitality from the very beginning. If our mountain air can work a
miracle, we may see her restored; if not, there is no hope."

His wife and "aunty" were grieved