The doctors followed into the bedroom. Mercy was lying tranquilly on her bed. Her countenance was without expression. She was busy with her own thoughts. Greta stood by the bedside; anxiety was written in every line of her beautiful, brave face. "We must give her the gas," said one of the doctors, addressing the other. Mercy's features twitched. "Who said that?" she asked, nervously. "My child, you must be quiet," said the doctor in a tone of authority. "Yes, I will be quiet, very quiet; only don't make me unconscious," she said. "Never mind me; I will not cry. No; if you hurt me I will not cry out. I will not stir. I will do everything you ask. And you shall say how quiet I have been. Only don't let me be insensible." The doctors consulted aside, and in whispers. "Who spoke about the gas? It wasn't you, Mrs. Ritson, was it?" "You must do as the doctors wish, dear," said Greta in a caressing voice. "Oh, I will be very good. I will do every little thing. Yes, and I will be so brave. I am a little childish sometimes, but I can be brave, can't I?" The doctors returned to the bedside. "Very well, we will not use the gas," said one. "You are a brave little woman, after all. There, be still--very still." One of the doctors was tearing linen into strips for bandages, while the other fixed Mercy's head to suit the light. There was a faint sound from the kitchen. "Wait," said Mercy. "That is father--he's crying. Tell him not to cry. Say it's nothing." She laughed a weak little laugh. "There, he will hear that; go and say it was I who laughed." Greta left the room on tiptoe. Old Matthew was still sitting over a dying fire, gently rocking the sleeping child. Parson Christian's eyes were raised in prayer. When Greta returned to the bedroom, Mercy called her, and said very softly--"Let me hold your hand, Greta--may I say Greta?--there," and her fingers closed on Greta's with a convulsive grasp. The operation began. Mercy held her breath. She had the stubborn north-country blood in her. Once only a sigh escaped. There was a dead silence. In two or three minutes the doctor said: "Just another minute, and all will be over." At the next instant Greta felt her hand held with a grasp of iron. "Doctor, doctor, I can see you!" cried Mercy, and her words came in gusts. "Be quiet," said the doctor in a stern voice. In half a minute more the linen bandages were being wrapped tightly over Mercy's eyes. "Doctor, dear doctor, let me see my boy," cried Mercy. "Be quiet, I say," said the doctor again. "Dear doctor, my dear doctor, only one peep--one little peep--I saw your face--let me see my Ralphie's!" "Not yet, it is not safe." "But only for a moment. Don't put the bandage on for one moment. Just think, doctor, I have never seen my boy; I've seen other people's children, but never once my own, own darling. Oh, dear doctor--" "You are exciting yourself. Listen to me; if you don't behave yourself now you may never see your child."