I knew there was more the matter with him than you thought for,
doctor!" said the mother, while Dr. Elton examined his patient. "You
thought it was nothing, but I knew better. If you'd only prescribed
last night, as I wanted you to, all this might have been saved."

"Don't be alarmed, madam," said the doctor, "there is nothing
serious in this fever. It will soon subside."

Mrs. Marvel shook her head.

"It's the scarlet fever, doctor, I know it is!" said she,
passionately, bursting into tears.

"Let me beg of you, madam, not to distress yourself. I assure you
there is no danger!"

"So you said last night, doctor; and just see how much worse he is
getting!"

As Dr. Elton was generally a man of few words, he said no more, but
wrote a prescription, and went away, promising, however, at the
earnest request of Mrs. Marvel, to call again that night.

About nine o'clock he called in, and found Charley's fever in no
degree abated. Mrs. Marvel was in tears, and her husband pacing the
floor in a state of great uneasiness.

"O doctor, he'll die, I'm sure he'll die!" said Mrs. Marvel, weeping
bitterly.

"Don't be alarmed, my dear madam," replied the doctor. "I assure you
it is nothing serious."

"Oh, I'm 'sure it's the scarlet fever! It's all about now."

"No, madam, I am in earnest when I tell you it is nothing of the
kind. His throat is not in the least sore."

"Yes, doctor, it is sore!"

"How do you know?" responded the doctor, examining Charley's mouth
and throat, which showed not the least symptom of any irritation of
the mucous membrane. "It can't be sore from any serious cause. Some
trifling swelling of the glands is all that can occasion it, if any
exist."

Thus assured, and in a positive manner, Mrs. Marvel's alarm in some
degree abated, and after ordering a warm bath, the doctor retired.

About three o'clock the doctor was again sent for in great haste. On
entering the chamber of his little patient, he found his fever all
gone, and he in a pleasant sleep.

"What do you think of him, doctor?" asked Mrs. Marvel, in a low,
anxious whisper.

"I think he's doing as well as he can."

"But a'n't it strange, doctor, that he should breathe so low? He
looks so pale, and lays so quiet! Are you sure he's not dying?"

"Dying!" exclaimed Dr. Elton,--"he's no more dying than you are!
Really, Mrs. Marvel, yon torment yourself with unnecessary fears!
Nature is only a little exhausted from struggling with the fever