We worked and worked till the perspiration poured from our faces. Every expedient was tried, until the physician at last desisted and stood back for a moment in anxious thought. Then, in a tone broken with anguish, Mr. Yocomb exclaimed: "Would to God the bolt had fallen on my head, and not on this dear little lamb." In bitter protest against it all I cried, "The bolt has fallen on your heart, Mr. Yocomb. How is it that God has thunderbolts for lambs?" "Richard Morton, thee's unjust," began Mrs. Yocomb, in a voice that she tried to render quiet and resigned. "Who art thou to judge God? 'What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know--' Oh, my child, my child!" broke out her wailing cry, and motherhood triumphed. Reuben was sobbing over his sister with all the abandon of boyish grief, but Miss Warren stood before the little form, apparently lifeless, with clasped hands and dilated eyes. "I can't--I won't give her up," she exclaimed passionately, and darted from the room. I followed wonderingly. She was already in the kitchen, and had found a large tub. "Fill this with hot water," she said to me. "No! let me do it; I'll trust no one. Yes, you may carry it up, but please be careful. I'll bring some cold water to temper it. Doctor," she exclaimed, re-entering the room, "we must work till we know there is no chance. Yes, and after we know it. Is not hot water good?" "Anything is good that will restore suspended circulation," he replied; "we'll try it. But wait a moment. I've employed a nice test, and if there's life I think this little expedient will reveal it." He held the child's hand, and I noted that a string had been tied around one of the small white fingers, and that he intently watched the part of the finger beyond the string. I comprehended the act at once, and recognized the truth that there would be little hope of life if this test failed. If there was any circulation at all the string would not prevent the blood flowing out through the artery, but it would prevent its return, and, therefore, if there was life a faint color would manifest itself in the finger. I bent over and held my breath in my eager scrutiny. "The child's alive!" I exclaimed. By a quick, impressive gesture the physician checked my manifestation of feeling and excitement as he said: "Yes, she's alive, and that's about all. We'll try a plunge in the hot bath, and then friction and artificial respiration again."