"So there will be no danger," she said. "I shall not leave my boy. Who said that? The doctor? Oh, good gracious, it's nothing. Only think, I shall live to see him grow to be a great lad." Her whole face was now radiant. "It will be nothing. Oh, no, it will be nothing. How silly it was to think that he would live on, and grow up, and be a man, and I lie cold in the churchyard--and me his mother! That was very childish, wasn't it? But, then, I have been so childish since Ralphie came." "There, lie and be quiet, and it will soon be over," said Greta. "Let me kiss him first. Do let me kiss him! Only once. You know it's a great risk after all. And if he grew up--and I wasn't here--if--if--" "There, dear Mercy, you must not cry again. It inflames your eyes, and that can't be good for the doctors." "No, no, I won't cry. You are very good; everybody is very good. Only let me kiss my little Ralphie--just for the last." Greta led her back to the side of the cot, and she spread herself over it with outstretched arms, as the mother-bird poises with outstretched wings over her brood. Then she rose, and her face was peaceful and resigned. The Laird Fisher sat down before the kitchen fire, with one arm on the cradle head. Parson Christian stood beside him. The old charcoal-burner wept in silence, and the good Parson's voice was too thick for the words of comfort that rose to his lips. 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 together 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."