One day I received a message from Mrs. Dewey, desiring me to call and see two of her children who were sick.  On visiting them—­the two youngest—­I found them seriously ill, with symptoms so like scarletina, that I had little question in my mind as to the character of the disease from which they were suffering.  My second visit confirmed these fears.

“It is scarlet fever?” said Mrs. Dewey, looking at me calmly, as I moved from the bed-side after a careful examination of the two little ones.

I merely answered—­

“Yes.”

There was no change in her countenance.

“They are both very ill.”

She spoke with a slow deliberateness, that was unusual to her.

“They are sick children,” said I.

“Sick, it may be, unto death.”

There was no emotion in her voice.

I looked at her without replying.

“I can see them die, Doctor, if that must be.”

Oh, that icy coldness of manner, how it chilled me!

“No hand but mine shall tend them now, Doctor.  They have been long enough in the care of others—­neglected—­almost forgotten—­by their unworthy mother.  But in this painful extremity I will be near them.  I come back to the post of duty, even at this late hour, and all that is left for me, that will I do.”

I was deeply touched by her words and manner.

The latter softened a little as she uttered the closing sentence.

“You look at the darkest side,” I answered.  “With God are the issues of life.  He calls us, our children, or our friends, in His own good time.  We cannot tell how any sickness will terminate; and hope for the best is always our truest state.”

“I hope for the best,” she replied; but with something equivocal in her voice.

“The best is life,” I said, scarcely reflecting upon my words.

“Not always,” she returned, still speaking calmly.  “Death is often the highest blessing that God can give.  It will be so in the present case.”

“Madam!”

My tone of surprise did not move her.

“It is simply true, Doctor,” she made answer.  “As things are now, and as they promise to be in the future, the safest place for these helpless innocents is in Heaven; and I feel that their best Friend is about to remove them there through the door of sickness.”

I could not bear to hear her talk in this way.  It sent cold chills through me.  So I changed the subject.

On the next day, all the symptoms were unfavorable.  Mrs. Dewey was calm as when I last saw her; but it was plain from her appearance, that she had taken little if any rest.  Her manner towards the sick babes was full of tenderness; but there was no betrayal of weakness or distress in view of a fatal termination.  She made no anxious inquiries, such as are pressed on physicians in cases of dangerous illness; but received my directions, and promised to give them a careful observance, with a self-possession that showed not a sign of wavering strength.