But Mrs. Lee shook her head.  She thought the doctors knew best.  They had great confidence in their family physician.  He had doctored them through many dangerous attacks, and had always brought them through safely.  As to the new-fangled notions about giving little or no medicine, she had no confidence in them.  Medicine was necessary at times, and she always gave her children medicine at least two, or three times a year, whether they were sick or well.  Prevention, in her eyes, was better than cure.  And where there was actual sickness, she was in favor of vigorous treatment.  One good dose of medicine would do more good than a hundred little ones; with much more to the same effect.

On the next morning, my dear baby, who was just as sick for a few hours as Mrs. Lee’s child was at first, was as well as ever.

Not long after breakfast, I was sent for by Mrs. Lee.  Her poor child was much worse.  The servant said that she was sure it was dying.  I changed my dress hurriedly, and went over to the house of my neighbor.

Shall I describe the painful object that met my sight?  It was three days since I had seen the little sufferer; but, oh! how it had changed in that brief time.  Its face was sunken, its eyes far back in their sockets, and its forehead marked with lines of suffering.  The whole of its breast was raw from the blister, and its mouth, lying open, showed, with painful distinctness, the dreadful injury wrought by the mercury thrown, with such a liberal hand, into its delicate system.  All the life seemed to have withdrawn itself from the skin; for the vital forces, in the centre of its body, were acting but feebly.

The doctor came in while I was there.  He said but little.  It was plain that he was entirely at fault, and that he saw no hope of a favorable issue.  All his, “active treatment” had tended to break down the child, rather than cure the disease from which it at first suffered.  There was a great deal of heat about the child’s head, and he said something about having it shaved for a blister.

“Wouldn’t ice do better, doctor?” I felt constrained to suggest.  He turned upon me quickly and seemed annoyed.

“No, madam!” he replied with dignity.

I said no more, for I felt how vain my words would be.  The blister, however, was not ordered; but, in its stead, mustard plasters were directed to be placed over the feet and legs to the knees, and a solution of iodine, or iron, I don’t now remember which, prescribed, to be given every half hour.

I went home, some time after the doctor left, feeling sick at heart.  “They are murdering that child,” I could not help saying to myself.  My own dear babe I found full of health and life; and I hugged it to my breast with a feeling of thankfulness.

Before the day closed, Mrs. Lee’s poor child died.  Was it a cause of wonder?

CHAPTER XXVI.