“Oh, lawks! I guess not, honey; but she’s fair to middlin’ sick. Helen ain’t nothin’ to her. Never heard a worse wheezin’. S’pose she’s took a fine cold this morning, runnin’ round without any hat on.”
It was dreadful to the girls, who had never seen a bad attack of croup before, to stand there helplessly, and watch the little creature fighting for breath, every respiration coming with a long whoop that seemed to tear the little frame apart.
“Can’t you do anything, ’Liza?” begged Marjorie. “It’s dreadful to see her suffer so. Aren’t there any medicines to give her?”
“Yes, Miss Marjorie; there’s syrup of squills. It’s in your ma’s medicine chest. No; it’s all out, I know. I’ll give her some vaseline, if you’ll get some.”
“Make her eat that stuff!” exclaimed Cricket. “Why, it will choke her! Don’t do it. It’s cruel!”
But Eliza, unheeding, took a spoonful of vaseline, and opening the baby’s already gasping mouth still further, put the soft, slippery mass down the poor little throat.
Presently the doctor came, and to the children’s amazement, he nodded approvingly over the vaseline. Then he ordered them all off to bed.
“Go and finish the night in mamma’s bed, you and Cricket,” suggested Marjorie. “’Liza, I’ll be on the lookout for our children, since my room is next to theirs, and you must stay here. Is the baby very sick, doctor?”
“It’s a pretty bad attack, but nothing to be frightened about,” said the doctor cheerily. “But who in the world is the youngster?”
While Marjorie explained, Eunice and Cricket crept off to mamma’s room, and tucked themselves into her wide bed, feeling as if they had been through a lifetime’s experience since nine o’clock that night. How delightfully peaceful and care-free it seemed to settle down without anyone to look after but themselves.