Everything but Philip was thrust into the background now.
"I have good news for you, Mrs. De Jarnette," said the doctor one morning, as he put his thermometer into the child's mouth and waited. Philip was at his worst that day and he wanted to get her thoughts away from him for a few moments at least and leave her with something to think about. "Your bill has passed the Senate."
"Has it?" she answered indifferently. Then, with an impatience that could hardly wait, "How is it, doctor? Is it any lower?"
"I'll wager she has forgotten already what I said to her," the doctor communed with himself. "Women are all alike. They can manage the affairs of the nation or the universe until their children get sick, and then—it's all up! Well, I guess that's the way the Lord meant 'em to be."
One afternoon the doctor called the nurse into the adjoining room and talked with her in low tones. When he came back he said cheerfully, "I believe I will stay at Elmhurst to-night, Mrs. De Jarnette. I think he is going to be better, but we will know by midnight."
Margaret gripped the side of the bed. The doctor does not usually stay when the patient is better.
Suspense was in the air after that. Word was passed to the cabin that the crisis had come, and Uncle Tobe and his wife and Mammy Cely were having a prayer-meeting there.
At nine o'clock Philip was sleeping quietly and the doctor who had been up the night before went to bed. "Call me if there is any change," he said to the nurse, "and at twelve whether there is or not."
He advised Margaret to do the same, but she shook her head.
"Mr. De Jarnette," the nurse said in a low tone. "Hadn't you better lie down now. You may be needed later."