C. I suppose he can; but he never does, does he? Does he ever kill such little babies as Susan?
M. They very often die, Charles.
C. I never heard of that before; I hope Susan will not die. How old is she, mother?
M. Eight months.
C. O, mother, mother, that is too young to die; I am sure she won’t. Here am I, seven years old, and I am not dead yet.
M. And I am twenty-seven, my dear boy; but for all that, you and Susan may both die before I do, if it should please God.
C. What makes the tears come in your eyes, mother? we shan’t die, I know. See how Susan keeps stirring about! see how red her cheeks are!
M. She is not well; she is feverish, Charles. Do you know there are two little white teeth trying to get through her gums, and they give her a great deal of pain? I shall send for the doctor to-day. The clock is striking nine, Charles, and you must go to school.
C. O dear! and where is my little satchel? and where is my spelling-book, I wonder?
M. You had better look in the breakfast-room; and, Charles, be sure you shut the window; it is very damp this morning.