And he shivered under an accumulation of great-coats and furs that one would have thought sufficient for the temperature of polar regions. The carriage was stopped in Collins Street, and remained in the doctors' quarter until little Alfy fell asleep, and was temporarily put to bed under the long, soft skirt of his mother's jacket. Then, as the dusk was falling, Mr. Kingston came back to his place, and tremulously commanded the coachman to drive home as fast as he possibly could. "He says it is inflammation of the lungs, Rachel," he whispered excitedly, "and that I must go to bed at once. Only a touch he called it, but he didn't look as if he thought it a touch. He is coming up to-night to do something. He says I ought to have come home the first day, and not have let it run on. Inflammation of the lungs--that is a dreadful thing, isn't it? I have never had it, but I have heard of it--it's a most dangerous complaint!" "Oh, no, dear, not dangerous, except when people are careless," said Rachel soothingly, taking his hand under the fur rug and clasping it between her own. "And now you are home, with me to nurse you, you will soon get all right. Many people have it slightly--it is quite a common thing with a bad cold--but when they are well nursed and taken care of, they soon get all right again." "Good little woman! you will take care of me, I know." "Indeed I will," she responded, slipping up one hand under his arm, and resting her cheek on his coat-sleeve. "I wish you had come back to me before. But, once I get you fairly into my hands, I'll soon nurse you round."