“I don’t know what’s the matter,” said Cricket, feeling her way to the gas again. “Oh, do hurry! Here, you light it, and I’ll go.” And Cricket flew away barefooted.
In a moment she was back again, and directly after ’Liza appeared, in a trailing flannel wrapper and felt shoes.
“Croup!” she had exclaimed to herself, as she heard the wheezing noises away down-stairs. “A bad case, too,” she added to herself, as she entered the room.
Eunice had the gas lighted, and the two shivering, frightened little girls hung over the cot, where the baby lay fighting for breath, with that dreadful, whooping noise that mothers know and dread. Eliza came forward quickly; although she had not much head for any emergencies out of her own line, she was a good and efficient nurse where children’s ordinary ailments were concerned.
“Put on your dressing-gowns and slippers,” she ordered the children, she herself flying to the wash-stand, and wringing out a towel in cold water. “Run up-stairs, Miss Eunice, and wake Jane, and tell her to go for Dr. Townsend. Pass me a flannel petticoat out of your drawer, Cricket, please. I dasn’t wait to go to the nursery for things.”
The children flew on their respective orders, and in a twinkling Eliza had a cold compress on the baby’s chest, well protected by Cricket’s blue flannel petticoat.
Jane appeared a few moments later, ready to go for the doctor, and Marjorie, aroused by the voices and general commotion, came flying up-stairs.
“Them big, fat children always has croup dretful,” said Jane cheerfully. “Like as not she’ll die.”
“Die!” echoed ’Liza, scowling at her. “You get along, Jane Lackett, and bring that doctor, and tell him Doctor Ward’s away; and don’t let the grass grow under your feet, neither.”
“Oh, ’Liza, will she die?” whispered Cricket, clinging to Eliza’s hand.