So entirely occupied had Sally been with her duties as Little Mother, that since her first introduction to the reader she had not fainted dead away, as her wont and seemingly her pleasure were. But while the conversation between the mother and Dr. Lyon was proceeding, Sally once more indulged, and swooned off suddenly and unexpectedly. There were only herself and her baby-charge present, and they were sitting on the floor in the one room to which Mrs. Chester was now reduced. It was evening, and dusk, and the baby-child, naturally supposing that Sally had gone to sleep, crawled close to the insensible form of her friend and protector, and placing her face upon Sally's breast, fell asleep also. In this position Mrs. Chester found them when she arrived home. Sally did not stir when her mother raised and shook her. Then the mother, rushing to a despairing conclusion, wrung her hands, and moaned that her child had died of starvation. What extravagance of emotion she might have exhibited in her grief it is hard to say; but a slight movement from the child assured her that she was mistaken in her impression. She ran hurriedly back to Dr. Lyon, and begged him to come and see Sally immediately. "It is only one of the old attacks," he said to the grief-stricken mother, as they stood together by the poor bed on which the children were lying, "but brought about now by a different cause. See, she is sensible now. Sally, what is the matter with you?" "I am hungry," moaned Sally, "and so is baby. We've only had a slice of bread between us to-day." Dr. Lyon looked at the mother's white face, and bit his lips hard. "Do not leave the children," he said. "I will send in some medicine in five minutes." The medicine duly arrived in the shape of a four-pound loaf of bread, a small pat of butter, a two-ounce packet of tea, and a little sugar. On the loaf of bread was stuck an apothecary's label, with the written inscription, "To be taken at once with a cup of hot tea." The mother burst into tears, and set about preparing the medicine for the children. But Dr. Lyon had forgotten that to make hot tea a fire was necessary. Mrs. Chester had no coals. There was nothing of value in the room, and there was no time to lose. She stood by the cold empty grate, considering for a moment. Her eyes fell upon her wedding ring. It was all of the world's goods she had remaining. A melancholy freak it was that induced her to creep to Sally's side and say: "Sally, I'm going to make you some nice tea, and good Dr. Lyon has sent you some nice bread-and-butter." "Oh," replied Sally, in a whisper, "I'm so glad--so glad! Make haste, mother, make haste! You don't know how hungry we are." "I must run out and get some coals, dear child," said the mother. "You'll lay still, wont you?" "Yes, mother." "Kiss this, my dear," said the mother, with a sob, placing the wedding-ring to Sally's lips.