"No, no—get away," and Naomi once more caught up Fanny to her breast.
"I'll go and fetch mother."
Mrs. Backfield arrived in a washed-out bed-gown. A fire was lit and water put on to boil. Fanny's, however, did not seem just an ordinary case of "fits"; she lay limp in her mother's arms, strangely blue round the mouth, her eyes half open.
"Oh, what is it?—what is it?" wailed Naomi—"can't we do anything? Oh, why doesn't the doctor come?"
Suddenly the baby stiffened on her lap. The limbs became rigid, the face black. Then something rasped in its throat.
"Bring the water!—Bring the water!" screamed Naomi, hardly knowing what she said.
Mrs. Backfield poured the water into a basin, and Naomi lifted Miss Fanny to put her into the steaming bath.
"It's no use," said Reuben. He knew the child was dead.
But Naomi insisted on putting Fanny into the basin. She held her up in it for a moment. Then suddenly let her drop, and fell forward, wailing.