And all the time the fatal
membrane in his wee throat grew and thickened and he couldn't get it up.
"Oh, I was just wild! I never realized how dear Jims was to me until
that moment. And I felt so utterly helpless."
"And then Susan gave up. 'We cannot save him! Oh, if your father was
here--look at him, the poor little fellow! I know not what to do.'
"I looked at Jims and I thought he was dying. Susan was holding him up
in his crib to give him a better chance for breath, but it didn't seem
as if he could breathe at all. My little war-baby, with his dear ways
and sweet roguish face, was choking to death before my very eyes, and I
couldn't help him. I threw down the hot poultice I had ready in despair.
Of what use was it? Jims was dying, and it was my fault--I hadn't been
careful enough!
"Just then--at eleven o'clock at night--the door bell rang. Such a ring
--it pealed all over the house above the roar of the storm. Susan
couldn't go--she dared not lay Jims down--so I rushed downstairs. In
the hall I paused just a minute--I was suddenly overcome by an absurd
dread. I thought of a weird story Gertrude had told me once. An aunt of
hers was alone in a house one night with her sick husband. She heard a
knock at the door. And when she went and opened it there was nothing
there--nothing that could be seen, at least. But when she opened the
door a deadly cold wind blew in and seemed to sweep past her right up
the stairs, although it was a calm, warm summer night outside.
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