The Dupuyer acantha. [volume] (Dupuyer, Mont.) 1894-1904, 1896-02-13

you have sent for me too late,
eear,' l said. "You should have fetche,
ale sooner"
"Oh, sir" she replied, 81 have beer
-four times to DR.. Minson, and he has
always been too busy to come, though
he promised"
"Brute!' | muttered.
"And l have beer three times tc
your house, but they told me you were
away at the Park"
81 came directly l knew" 1 said,
hastily.
God will bless you for coming, doc
tor" she half sobbed. "Oh, pray. pray,
save his life. You don't know what he
is to me!'
Eyes, l do" 1 said, family, as 1 bus
led myself about the little fellow, his
mother ready to almost anticipate
anything l needed. and running off
with the prescription l wrote to get it
made up.
She was soon back, GREATNESS and
half fainting, but | had to send her
out again for support and stimulants
to administer al soon as l had checked
the disease.
l half-forced her to take something
on her return.
"No! no." she cried. "My boy! my
boy."
Il cannot save his life without All
active nurse" l said, sternly. Drink
that. You must keep up; l fear 1 am
too late; but I'll try all l know"
She obeyed, and together we tended
that poor little fellow, who was in the
last stage of weakness, dying gladu-
ally before our eyes. AS a stimulant
was poured between his lips we could
sit and see him revive a little, and as
it's effect passed off we could see him
gradually begin again to sink, till at
last the poor mother cried frantically
doctor, you are killing him! 1t is
madness to give so much strong bran
dy to a child like that!'
Then she sobbed and begged my par
don and yielded to my opinion.
And so the hours passed on in that
deadly fight with the shadow waiting
to snatch the widows only one away.
Again and again l was ready to give
up in despair, for the spark of life was
growing fainter hour by hour; but
sat and thought and called up every
scrap of knowledge l had learned
bearing upon such a case, and tried
and tried till l felt that no man, even
the highest in the profession, could
have done more. The only thing was
to keep on.
The day had passed and night had
come, and at every movement Oh my
part the young mother started in
agony, as if she was afraid that |
should leave the house; and once when
| went down to breathe the fresh
night air, and tried to think whether
| had left a stone unturned, she fol
lowed Inc to the door and threw her
self upon her k2ees to me.
"Don't-don't go, doctor! am poor
but l will give you all to stay.
GO back, you silly woman 1 said
bluntly. 81 will not leave him while
there is q ray of hope"
"Forgive me-" she faltered; 81 an
nearly mad"
you are his mother" l said, quiet
ly. GO back and watch"
was kneeling by the bed, watching
the faint breathing of that poor child
the slight heaving Of it's white night
gown dimly seen by the light of the
one candle, so placed that the ray
should not fall upon its eyes, while
upon the other side of the bed, kneel
ing, too, was the young mother, hel
white, agonized face, with it's staring
eyes framed in the white Grape wild
owls cap, watching me, my every lool
and act, knowing as she did that hel
little boy of three was hanging be
tween life and death, suspended, as II
were, by q hair more soft and silky
than that of the fair curls about the
poor little fellows pure white fore
head. All seemed to be over, but in {
young child there is always room fol
hope, and | sat watching until morn
ing. | did not stir from the cottage
the next day, and night had once NOR
come, with the battle for life still
going on, when we were startled by
the sound of wheels, followed by a re,
sounding knock at the door.