"Grain-of-Salt can rent you one, and won't charge much; but the room is not all. You must have medicine and good food and care, all of which you would get at the hospital."
"Doctor, that is impossible," said the sick woman. "I cannot leave my little girl. What would become of her?"
"Well, it's as you like; it's your own affair. I have told you what I think."
"You can come in, little girl, now," he called out. Then taking a leaf from his note pad, he wrote out a prescription.
"Take that to the druggist, near the Church," he said, handing it to Perrine. "No other, mind you. The packet marked No. 1 give to your mother. Then give her the potion every hour. Give her the Quinquina wine when she eats, for she must eat anything she wants, especially eggs. I'll drop in again this evening."
She ran out after him.
"Is my mama very ill?" she asked.
"Well ... try and get her to go to the hospital."
"Can't you cure her?"
"I hope so, but I can't give her what she'll get at the hospital. It is foolish for her not to go. She won't go because she has to leave you. Nothing will happen to you, for you look like a girl who can take care of yourself."