Mrs. McWilliams sped to the nursery to see how things were going on
there. She was back in a moment with a new dread. She said:
"What can make Baby sleep so?"
I said:
"Why, my darling, Baby always sleeps like a graven image."
"I know. I know; but there's something peculiar about his sleep now.
He seems to--to--he seems to breathe so regularly. Oh, this is
dreadful."
"But, my dear, he always breathes regularly."
"Oh, I know it, but there's something frightful about it now. His nurse
is too young and inexperienced. Maria shall stay there with her, and be
on hand if anything happens."
"That is a good idea, but who will help you?"
"You can help me all I want. I wouldn't allow anybody to do anything but
myself, anyhow, at such a time as this."
I said I would feel mean to lie abed and sleep, and leave her to watch
and toil over our little patient all the weary night. But she reconciled
me to it. So old Maria departed and took up her ancient quarters in the
nursery.
Penelope coughed twice in her sleep.
"Oh, why don't that doctor come! Mortimer, this room is too warm. This
room is certainly too warm. Turn off the register-quick!"
I shut it off, glancing at the thermometer at the same time, and
wondering to myself if 70 was too warm for a sick child.
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