"No, no," Stuart interrupted soothingly. "You're just all in; you must go to bed and sleep. Go at once, and you'll find something to cheer you in the little girl's room, a love letter for you."
"Yes," he asked, the light slowly returning to his eyes, "a love letter from my baby?"
"I saw it there after she left. Read it and go to sleep. I'll see you to-night."
"Yes, yes, of course, my boy, that's what's the matter with me. I'm just all in for the lack of sleep. I've been raving half the time, I think. I'll go to bed at once."
When Stuart returned early from his work in the afternoon he found a group of forlorn women and children standing beside the stoop. A pale, elfish-looking boy of ten, whose face appeared to be five years older, sat on the lower step crying.
"What's the matter, kiddie?" he asked kindly.
"I wants de doctor—me mudder's sick. She'll croak before mornin' ef he don't come—dey all want him." He waved his little dirty hand toward the others. "He ain't come around no more for a week. The goil says we can't see him, he's asleep."
"I'll tell him you're here. The doctor's been ill himself."
The boy rose quickly and doffed his ragged cap.
"Tank ye, boss."