“No,” was the nervous answer. “No, I don't think he is. His throat's terrible sore and the fever's just as bad.”
Again Captain Hiram's conscience smote him.
“Dear! dear!” he exclaimed. “And I've been loafin' around the depot with Sol Berry and the rest of 'em instead of stayin' home with you, Sophrony. I KNEW I was doin' wrong, but I didn't realize—”
“Course you didn't, Hiram. I'm glad you got a few minutes' rest, after bein' up with him half the night. I do wish the doctor was home, though. When will he be back?”
“Not until late to-morrer, if then. Did you keep on givin' the medicine?”
“Yes, but it don't seem to do much good. You go and set with him now, Hiram. I must be seein' about supper.”
So into the sick room went Captain Hiram to sit beside the crib and sing “Sailor boy, sailor boy, 'neath the wild billow,” as a lugubrious lullaby.
Little Hiram Joash tossed and tumbled. He was in a fitful slumber when Mrs. Baker called her husband to supper. The meal was anything but a cheerful one. They talked but little. Over the home, ordinarily so cheerful, had settled a gloom that weighed upon them.
“My! my!” sighed Captain Hiram, “how lonesome it seems without him chatterin' and racketin' sound. Seems darker'n usual, as if there was a shadow on the place.”
“Hush, Hiram! don't talk that way. A shadow! Oh, WHAT made you say that? Sounds like a warnin', almost.”