IN A HAMPSHIRE VILLAGE 165 



she would cry out with joy and make as much fuss 

 as if she had found a splendid jewel on the heath. 

 She was a strong child, always the picture of health, 

 so that when she suddenly fell ill of a fever it sur- 

 prised and alarmed them greatly, and the doctor 

 was sent for. He didn't think it a serious case, but 

 he seemed doubtful about its nature, and in the end 

 he made a fatal mistake — he himself said it was a 

 mistake. The crisis came, and the poor child got so 

 bad that he was sent for, but it was long to wait, and 

 in the meantime something had to be done, and what 

 she did was to give it a hot bath. Then the fit passed, 

 and with it the fever, and the child went off in a quiet 

 sleep with every sign of returning health. Then came 

 the doctor and said the child was getting well — the 

 right thing had been done — but he must wake her 

 up and give her a draught. She begged him not to; 

 he insisted, and roused and made the child drink, 

 and no sooner had the little thing swallowed the 

 medicine than she fell back white as ashes and was 

 dead in a few minutes. 



It was going on for two years since their loss ; they 

 had been long settled in the village and had grown 

 used to the village life: the boy was gradually be- 

 coming more reconciled to school; her husband had 

 a different employment, which suited him better 

 than the former one, and was highly regarded by 

 his master; then, too, they had pleasant relations 

 with their neighbours. But this improvement in 

 their condition brought them no happiness — they 

 could not get over the loss of their child. She, the 



