I replied: 

“Love, it is notorious that pine is the least nutritious wood that a child can eat.”

My wife’s hand paused, in the act of taking the stick, and returned itself to her lap.  She bridled perceptibly, and said: 

“Hubby, you know better than that.  You know you do.  Doctors all say that the turpentine in pine wood is good for weak back and the kidneys.”

“Ah—­I was under a misapprehension.  I did not know that the child’s kidneys and spine were affected, and that the family physician had recommended—­”

“Who said the child’s spine and kidneys were affected?”

“My love, you intimated it.”

“The idea!  I never intimated anything of the kind.”

“Why, my dear, it hasn’t been two minutes since you said—­”

“Bother what I said!  I don’t care what I did say.  There isn’t any harm in the child’s chewing a bit of pine stick if she wants to, and you know it perfectly well.  And she shall chew it, too.  So there, now!”

“Say no more, my dear.  I now see the force of your reasoning, and I will go and order two or three cords of the best pine wood to-day.  No child of mine shall want while I—­”

“Oh, please go along to your office and let me have some peace.  A body can never make the simplest remark but you must take it up and go to arguing and arguing and arguing till you don’t know what you are talking about, and you never do.”

“Very well, it shall be as you say.  But there is a want of logic in your last remark which—­”

However, she was gone with a flourish before I could finish, and had taken the child with her.  That night at dinner she confronted me with a face a white as a sheet: 

“Oh, Mortimer, there’s another!  Little Georgi Gordon is taken.”

“Membranous croup?”

“Membranous croup.”

“Is there any hope for him?”

“None in the wide world.  Oh, what is to be come of us!”

By and by a nurse brought in our Penelope to say good night and offer the customary prayer at the mother’s knee.  In the midst of “Now I lay me down to sleep,” she gave a slight cough!  My wife fell back like one stricken with death.  But the next moment she was up and brimming with the activities which terror inspires.

She commanded that the child’s crib be removed from the nursery to our bedroom; and she went along to see the order executed.  She took me with her, of course.  We got matters arranged with speed.  A cot-bed was put up in my wife’s dressing room for the nurse.  But now Mrs. McWilliams said we were too far away from the other baby, and what if he were to have the symptoms in the night—­and she blanched again, poor thing.

We then restored the crib and the nurse to the nursery and put up a bed for ourselves in a room adjoining.

Presently, however, Mrs. McWilliams said suppose the baby should catch it from Penelope?  This thought struck a new panic to her heart, and the tribe of us could not get the crib out of the nursery again fast enough to satisfy my wife, though she assisted in her own person and well-nigh pulled the crib to pieces in her frantic hurry.