“Has the doctor seen her to-day, Fanny?”

“No, ma’am.”

“He should see her at once.  I will go for him”; and Mrs. Slade starts up and goes quickly from the room.  In a little while she returns with Doctor Green, who sits down and looks at the child for some moments with a sober, thoughtful face.  Then he lays his fingers on her pulse and times its beat by his watch—­shakes his head, and looks graver still.

“How long has she had fever?” he asks.

“All day.”

“You should have sent for me earlier.”

“Oh, doctor!  She is not dangerous, I hope?” Mrs. Morgan looks frightened.

“She’s a sick child, madam.”

“You’ve promised, father.”—­The dreamer is speaking again.—­“I’m not well enough yet.  Oh, don’t go, father; don’t!  There!  He’s gone!  Well, well!  I’ll try and walk there—­I can sit down and rest by the way.  Oh, dear!  How tired I am!  Father!  Father!”

The child starts up and looks about her wildly.

“Oh, mother, is it you?” And she sinks back upon her pillow, looking now inquiringly from face to face.

“Father—­where is father?” she asks.

“Asleep, dear.”

“Oh!  Is he?  I’m glad.”

Her eyes close wearily.

“Do you feel any pain, Mary?” inquired the doctor.

“Yes, sir—­in my head.  It aches and beats so.”

The cry of “Father” had reached the ears of Morgan, who is sleeping in the next room, and roused him into consciousness.  He knows the doctor’s voice.  Why is he here at this late hour?  “Do you feel any pain, Mary?” The question he hears distinctly, and the faintly uttered reply also.  He is sober enough to have all his fears instantly excited.  There is nothing in the world that he loves as he loves that child.  And so he gets up and dresses himself as quickly as possible; the stimulus of anxiety giving tension to his relaxed nerves.

“Oh, father!” The quick ears of Mary detect his entrance first, and a pleasant smile welcomes him.

“Is she very sick, doctor?” he asks, in a voice full of anxiety.

“She’s a sick child, sir; you should have sent for me earlier.”  The doctor speaks rather sternly, and with a purpose to rebuke.

The reply stirs Morgan, and he seems to cower half timidly under the words, as if they were blows.  Mary has already grasped her father’s hand, and holds on to it tightly.

After examining the case a little more closely, the doctor prepares some medicine, and, promising to call early in the morning, goes away.  Mrs. Slade follows soon after; but, in parting with Mrs. Morgan, leaves something in her hand, which, to the surprise of the latter, proves to be a ten-dollar bill.  The tears start to her eyes; and she conceals the money in her bosom—­ murmuring a fervent “God bless her!”

A simple act of restitution is this on the part of Mrs. Slade, prompted as well by humanity as a sense of justice.  With one hand her husband has taken the bread from the family of his old friend, and thus with the other she restores it.