Mrs. Pinckney glanced at a little watch which she took from her belt:
"Twelve o'clock, but the servants probably have not gone to bed."--She
rang the bell. "Mary," to a maid who entered, "tell the cook to make
some tea and send in cold chicken or beef--whatever is left from
dinner."
"I think the fire is out, Mrs. Pinckney," the servant hesitatingly
replied.
"Oh, no matter: let her get a few chips and make a fire: I _must_ have
my tea."--Doctor Harris rose. "Oh, doctor, don't go until you have
taken one more look at my darling."
The nursery was on the same floor. Mrs. Pinckney insisted on kissing
the child, much to the physician's annoyance. He checked her, and
carefully refrained from talking himself while in the room. As he was
taking leave at the front door she repeated, "Now, doctor, you're sure
I can be comfortable--that I can go to bed and go to sleep? Tell me
positively"--and she looked earnestly in his face--"that the child will
never have another convulsion."
He laughed, and bent an admiring tender, gaze on the pretty mother, who
stood appealingly before him: "My dear Mrs. Pinckney, I cannot swear
positively that Harry will never have another convulsion, particularly
if he is allowed to eat nuts and raisins _ad libitum_: however, with
ordinary care I don't think it at all probable.
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