dy for my solace and
delight.

It was on my lip to inquire if any one had called since I went out, but
the ringing of the tea-bell sent my thought in a new direction; when,
with my second self leaning on an arm, and my little Aggy holding
tightly by my hand, I moved on to the dining-room, all the disagreeable
things of the day forgotten.

"Has any one been here?" I asked, as I handed my cup for a third
replenishing. Professional habit was too strong--the query would intrude
itself.

"Mrs. Wallingford called to see you."

"Ah! Is anybody sick?"

"I believe so--but she evaded my inquiry, and said that she wished to
speak a word with the Doctor."

"She don't want me to call over to-night, I hope. Did she leave any
word?"

"No. She looked troubled in her mind, I thought."

"No other call?"

"Yes. Mary Jones sent word that something was the matter with the baby.
It cried nearly all last night, her little boy said, and to-day has
fever, and lies in a kind of stupor."

"That case must be seen to," I remarked, speaking to myself.

"You might let it go over until morning," suggested my wife. "At any
rate, I would let them send again before going. The child may be better
by this time."

"A call in time may save life here, Constance," I made answer; the sense
of duty growing stronger as the inner and outer man felt the renovating
effects of a good supper, and the brightness and warmth of my pleasant
home. "And life, you know, is a precious thing--even a baby's life."

And I turned a meaning glance upon the calm, sweet face of our latest
born, as she lay sleeping in her cradle. That was enough. I saw the
tears spring instantly to the eyes of my wife.

"I have not a word to say. God forbid, that in the weakness of love and
care for you, dear husband, I should draw you aside from duty. Yes--yes!
The life of a baby is indeed a precious thing!"

And bending over the cradle, she left a kiss on the lips, and a tear
on the pure brow of our darling. Now was I doubly strengthened for the
night. There arose at this instant a wild storm-wail, that shrieked for
a brief time amid the chimneys, and around the eaves of our dwelling,
and then went moaning away, sadly, dying at last in the far distance.
The rain beat heavily against the windows. But I did not waver, nor seek
for reasons to warrant a neglect of duty. "I must see Mary Jones's baby,
and that to-night." I said this to myself, resolutely, by way of answer
to the int