. In fact he was
suffocating. It is frightful to think of! Was nobody coming to save him?

The chilly teamsters had some time ago crowded into the bar-room with
frost on their hair and whiskers; but the frost was fast turning to
steam as they drank the cider which John, the new hired man, heated with
the red-hot loggerhead. Dr. Hilton had set out the little red chair, and
somebody would have wondered why Willy did not come in, if the men had
not all been so busy telling stories that they did not have time to
think of anything else.

It was now nearly nine, and Mrs. Parlin and Love were in the
sitting-room sewing by the light of two tallow candles.

"Isn't it the coldest night we've had this year, mother?"

"Yes, dear, I think it is. You know what the old ditty says,--

'When the days begin to lengthen,
The cold begins to strengthen.'

"I do wish dear little Willy would stay in his bed, nicely 'happed' in'"
(_happed_ is the Scotch word for "tucked"), "but I suppose he is just as
well off by the bar-room fire. It's lucky he doesn't take a fancy to
wander anywhere else, and we can always tell where he is."

"But, mother, I haven't heard him pass through the south entry,--have
you? I always know when he goes into the bar-room by the quick little
click of the latch."

"So do I," replied her mother; "but now I think of it, I haven't heard
him to-night. I can't help hoping he is going to lie still."

There was nothing more said for a little while. They were both very busy
finishing off a homespun suit for Willy. How should they suspect that a
strange stupor was fast stealing over their little darling? Who was
going to tell them that even now he was entering the valley of the
shadow of death? _Who?_ I cannot answer that question; I only know that
just then Mrs. Parlin, who was going to bed in about fifteen minutes,
and did not like to leave her work yet, suddenly dropped the jacket,
which was almost done, and said,--

"Love, I guess I'll go in and look at that child. He may have tossed the
clothes off and got a little chilly."

Then she arose from her chair slowly,--she was so large that she always
moved slowly,--took one of the candles, and went into the kitchen.

As she opened the bedroom door--Well, I cannot tell you; you will have
to imagine that white, white face, pressed close to the pillow, that
limp little figure, stretched under the coverlet, in awful stillness.

"O God, is it too late?" thought