“Oh! I take. Ha! ha!--very eccentric--very!” muttered the apothecary, a little disconcerted. “Well, let him lie down, ma’am. I’ll send him a little quieting draught to be taken directly--pill at night, aperient in the morning. If wanted, send for me--always to be found. Bless me, that’s my boy Bob’s ring. Please to open the door, ma’ am. Know his ring--very peculiar knack of his own. Lay ten to one it is Mrs. Plummer, or perhaps, Mrs. Everat--her ninth child in eight years--in the grocery line. A woman in a thousand, sir!” Here a thin boy, with very short coat-sleeves, and very large hands, burst into the room with his mouth open. “Sir--Mr. Perkins--sir!” “I know--I know--coming. Mrs. Plummer or Mrs. Everat?” “No, sir; it be the poor lady at Mrs. Lacy’s; she be taken desperate. Mrs. Lacy’s girl has just been over to the shop, and made me run here to you, sir.” “Mrs. Lacy’s! oh, I know. Poor Mrs. Morton! Bad case--very bad--must be off. Keep him quiet, ma’am. Good day! Look in to-morrow--nine o’clock. Put a little lint with the lotion on the head, ma’am. Mrs. Morton! Ah! bad job that.” Here the apothecary had shuffled himself off to the street door, when Arthur laid his hand on his arm. “Mrs. Morton! Did you say Morton, sir? What kind of a person--is she very ill?” “Hopeless case, sir--general break-up. Nice woman--quite the lady--known better days, I’m sure.” “Has she any children--sons?” “Two--both away now--fine lads--quite wrapped up in them--youngest especially.” “Good heavens! it must be she--ill, and dying, and destitute, perhaps,”--exclaimed Arthur, with real and deep feeling; “I will go with you, sir. I fancy that I know this lady--that,” he added generously, “I am related to her.” “Do you?--glad to hear it. Come along, then; she ought to have some one near her besides servants: not but what Jenny, the maid, is uncommonly kind. Dr. -----, who attends her sometimes, said to me, says he, ‘It is the mind, Mr. Perkins; I wish we could get back her boys.” “And where are they?” “‘Prenticed out, I fancy. Master Sidney--” “Sidney!” “Ah! that was his name--pretty name. D’ye know Sir Sidney Smith?--extraordinary man, sir! Master Sidney was a beautiful child--quite spoiled. She always fancied him ailing--always sending for me. ‘Mr. Perkins,’ said she, ‘there’s something the matter with my child; I’m sure there is, though he won’t own it. He has lost his appetite--had a headache last night.’ ‘Nothing the matter, ma’am,’ says I; ‘wish you’d think more of yourself.’ “These mothers are silly, anxious, poor creatures. Nater, sir, Nater--wonderful thing--Nater!--Here we are.” And the apothecary knocked at the private door of a milliner and hosier’s shop. CHAPTER X. “Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourished.”--Titus Andronicus.