But she did everything, and more than Mary, with her young inexperience, could have thought of. She prepared the warm bath, and tried it with her husband’s own thermometer (Mr. Jenkins was as punctual as clockwork in noting down the temperature of every day). She let his mother place her baby in the tub, still preserving the same rigid, affronted aspect, and then she went upstairs without a word. Mary longed to ask her to stay, but dared not; though, when she left the room, the tears chased each other down her cheeks faster than ever. Poor young mother! how she counted the minutes till the doctor should come. But, before he came, down again stalked Mrs. Jenkins, with something in her hand. “I’ve seen many of these croup-fits, which, I take it, you’ve not, ma’am. Mustard plaisters is very sovereign, put on the throat; I’ve been up and made one, ma’am, and, by your leave, I’ll put it on the poor little fellow.” Mary could not speak, but she signed her grateful assent. It began to smart while they still kept silence; and he looked up to his mother as if seeking courage from her looks to bear the stinging pain; but she was softly crying, to see him suffer, and her want of courage reacted upon him, and he began to sob aloud. Instantly Mrs. Jenkins’s apron was up, hiding her face: “Peep-bo, baby,” said she, as merrily as she could. His little face brightened, and his mother having once got the cue, the two women kept the little fellow amused, until his plaister had taken effect. “He’s better,—oh, Mrs. Jenkins, look at his eyes! how different! And he breathes quite softly——” As Mary spoke thus, the doctor entered. He examined his patient. Baby was really better. “It has been a sharp attack, but the remedies you have applied have been worth all the Pharmacopoeia an hour later.—I shall send a powder,” &c. &c. Mrs. Jenkins stayed to hear this opinion; and (her heart wonderfully more easy) was going to leave the room, when Mary seized her hand and kissed it; she could not speak her gratitude. Mrs. Jenkins looked affronted and awkward, and as if she must go upstairs and wash her hand directly. But, in spite of these sour looks, she came softly down an hour or so afterwards to see how baby was. The little gentleman slept well after the fright he had given his friends; and on Christmas morning, when Mary awoke and looked at the sweet little pale face lying on her arm, she could hardly realize the danger he had been in. When she came down (later than usual), she found the household in a commotion. What do you think had happened? Why, pussy had been a traitor to his best friend, and eaten up some of Mr. Jenkins’s own especial sausages; and gnawed and tumbled the rest so, that they were not fit to be eaten! There were no bounds to that cat’s appetite! he would have eaten his own father if he had been tender enough. And now Mrs. Jenkins stormed and cried—“Hang the cat!”