"They are dying, both of 'em!" screamed Patty, bursting into Mrs. Howe's room again; "you will have to attend to it now, ma'am, sure. I know I can't stay by them."
"Go for the doctor, then," said Mrs. Howe, thinking this might be preferable to a coroner's inquest; "not our doctor, but the one in the next street."
"Your doctor is the nearest, ma'am," suggested Patty.
"Do as I tell you!" said the frowning Mrs. Howe, going leisurely up stairs.
"Just see what a spot of work, ma'am," said the cook, who had run up to see what was the matter; "that child must be undressed, ma'am, and put into a warm bath."
"Let it alone," said Mrs. Howe; "the doctor will be here presently. How do you know it is the right thing to do with the child?"
"I am sure of it, ma'am, begging your pardon; my sister's child had just the like of those fits, and that was what we always did for him, but just as you please, ma'am—hadn't you better hold some smelling-salts to its mother's face? she's in a faint, like."
Patty arrived at length with the doctor, who puffed considerably at climbing so many stairs, and disconcerted Mrs. Howe still more by his keen survey of the barren attic, Mrs. Howe's expensive apparel, and the two patients before him.
Charley he pronounced in a critical state, owing to the length of time he had lain in the fit; he then wrote a prescription, applied some remedies, and recommended perfect quiet, and attentive nursing.