Did it ever occur to you as strange that such men as Judge Burnham, in their hours of great mental pain, are very apt to call for blessings in “heaven’s name?”
It was a strange hour! Ruth, who had been hushed into silence and solemnity by the presence of the Death Angel, found herself whirled into the very midst of the struggle for life. Dr. Parmelee declared, with Mrs. Erskine, that there was still a good deal of strength, and he hoped. And then he stopped talking and went to work—quietly, skillfully, without commotion of any sort, yet issuing his orders with such swiftness and skill that mother and nurse, especially the former, were set to work to do instead of think. Especially was Mrs. Erskine alert, seeming to know by a sort of instinct, such as is noticeable in nurses who have a special calling for their work, what the Doctor wanted done, and how to do it. Far into the night they obeyed and watched. At last the Doctor rose up from a careful examination of his little patient.
“I believe,” he said, speaking quietly, “I believe there has been a change in the symptoms in the past two hours. If I mistake not, the crisis is past. I think your little one will recover.”
At the sound of these words, Judge Burnham strode over from his station at the head of the crib, and, grasping the Doctor’s hand, essayed to speak words, but his voice choked, and the self-possessed, polished gentleman lost every vestige of control, and broke into a passion of tears.
“He is in God’s hands, my friend,” the new Doctor said gently; “he will do right; and I think he has given the little life back to you.”
As for Ruth, she turned one look away from her baby’s face toward the Doctor’s; and he said as he went out from the home: “I declare that woman’s eyes paid me to-night.”
There was little talk and much watching during the rest of the night and the day that followed. Mrs. Erskine kept her post, keeping up that sort of alert doing which the skillful nurse understands so well, and which thrills the heart of a watcher with eager hope. One of Judge Burnham’s first morning duties was to send a curt and courteous note—if both terms are admissible—to Dr. Bacon, asking for his bill. Then his own carriage waited at the train for the coming of Dr. Parmelee.
“Now, look here, child,” said Mrs. Erskine, as, toward the midnight of the following night, Ruth turned for a moment from the crib and pressed her hand to her eyes, “you are just to go to bed and get a night’s sleep. We’ll have you on our hands, if you don’t, as sure as the world; and that will be a nice mess for baby, bless his heart. Judge Burnham, you just take her and put her to bed. I’m going to sit by my little boy, here, the whole blessed night; I won’t even wink; and when I undertake to watch, why I watch, and know how, though I do say it that shouldn’t.”
So, through much protesting from Ruth, and overruling by her father and husband, she was carried off to the room adjoining. In the gray dawn of another morning, she, having slept for four hours the sleep of utter exhaustion, started with a sudden, affrighted waking, wherein all the agony of the past days flashed over her, and, without waiting to remember the after-scene of joy, rushed to her nursery. There was the little crib, with its sleeping treasure; there on the couch, lay the tired nurse, sleeping quietly; there, at the crib’s side, sat Mrs. Erskine, keeping her faithful, tireless vigil. She looked up with a reassuring smile as Ruth came in.
“What did you wake up for? He’s as nice as a robin in a nest of down. He breathes just as easy! and the skin feels moist and natural. See how his little hair curls with the dampness! Anybody can see with half an eye that he is a great deal better. He’ll get on now real fast, Dr. Parmelee says so. I never did see the like of them little pills! Ain’t bigger than pin-heads, neither.”