"My poor, dear friend, would that I could comfort you!" Mrs. Keith said in tones of deep heartfelt sympathy, folding her arms about Mrs. Chetwood and weeping with her; "but only Jesus can do that in such sorrow as yours."

"And He does, else I should die; for oh my arms are so empty, my heart and home so desolate!" sobbed the bereaved mother.

"I know it, I know it by sad experience; for I too, have wept over the grave of a darling little one."

"You?" Mrs. Chetwood said with a look of surprise; "you have so many."

"Yes; but then I had not all I have now. Eva was between Rupert and Zillah and would be thirteen now. She was five when God took her to himself."

"Ah, you do know how to feel for me!"

"Yes; and let me tell you how I was comforted. I fear I was not quite submissive at first; but a dear old mother in Israel, who had several times passed through the same deep waters, came to me and said 'My dear, the Lord gave you quite a little flock and when He comes and asks you to return him one, and you know He will keep it so safely in his kind arms and on his tender bosom, will you refuse? can you not spare Him one?'

"Then my heart was almost broken to think I had been so churlish toward my beloved Master and I resigned her cheerfully into His care, and by and by grew happy in thinking of her, so safe from all sin and sorrow and pain, so full of joy, at His right hand; and of the time when my work shall be done and I shall go to her."

Mrs. Chetwood thought for a moment, then turning to her friend with eyes brimful of tears, "Thank you," she said, "your words have done me good. Surely I too, can spare Him one. Had He taken all, what right could I have to complain? and oh, how sweet is the thought that He is caring so tenderly for my precious lambkin!"

The mothers mingled their tears again for a little, tears of blended grief and joy; then Mrs. Chetwood said "What else dear friend? I seem to read in your eyes that you have something more to say to me."

"Only this, suggested to me by the same old Christian soldier and confirmed by my own experience; that efforts to comfort others react upon ourselves, so proving the best panacea for our own sorrow."

"I believe it, am conscience-smitten that I have been so selfishly wrapped up in my own grief, and shall set about the work at once. Will you do me the favor to suggest where I shall begin?"

Mrs. Keith spoke of Gotobed and the sort of comfort and assistance of which he stood in need.

Mrs. Chetwood shuddered. "Poor, poor fellow!" she said; "my heart aches for him. I feel sick at the very thought of seeing any one in that mutilated condition, but I will go to him and do what I can for his comfort and relief."

"Thank you," returned Mrs. Keith heartily "And speak comfortingly to the poor mother. She is grieving very much for him, and does not look well. One of the little girls, too, is quite ill with intermittent fever."

It was well that Mrs. Keith had engaged her friend to take up the labor of love, for it was long before she herself could resume it. On reaching home she found Mildred sitting with Annis in her arms, the little creature moaning with pain and in a high fever.

"Mother, she is very sick," whispered Mildred tremulously, her eyes full of tears; for she was thinking of how suddenly Mary Chetwood had been snatched away by the grim destroyer Death.

"I fear she is, poor darling! poor little pet!" the mother said, bending over her and softly pressing her lips to the burning cheek.

"O mother, mother, if we should lose her!"

"We will do all we can to make her well, asking God's blessing on our efforts," Mrs. Keith answered with determined cheerfulness, though a sharp pang shot through her heart at the bare suggestion.

Dr. Grange was sent for at once. He pronounced the child very ill, but by no means hopelessly so.

"The sickly season," he remarked, "is setting in unusually early and with uncommon severity, both in town and country; people are taken down with the fever every day. But it is what I have been expecting as the result of the long heavy rains we had all through the spring, succeeded by this intensely hot, dry weather. Why we haven't had a drop of rain now, scarcely a cloud, for three weeks; the heavens above us are as brass, and the marshes and pools of stagnant water on every side are teeming with miasma.

"Keep the children and yourselves out of the sun during the heat of the day, and do not on any account allow them to be exposed to the night air and dew."

"Thank you for your suggestions," said Mr. Keith, "we will do our best to follow them."

He had just come home from his office; for it was near tea-time. The children too had come in from their work or play, and the whole family were gathered in the sitting-room, where the baby girl lay in her cradle, mother and sister hanging over her in tender solicitude.

Fan had climbed her father's knee and was lying very quiet in his arms with her head on his shoulder.

The doctor taking his hat to go, paused as his eye fell on her, and stepping quickly to her side, took her hand in his.

"This child is sick too," he said, and went on to question and prescribe for her, directing that she should be put to bed at once.

"Oh," sighed Mildred, "if we only had Aunt Wealthy here!"

"I wish you had," the doctor said; "but the neighbors here are always very kind in times of sickness."

"Yes; we have had experience of that in the past," replied Mrs. Keith.

The doctor called on Mrs. Chetwood and Mrs. Prior on his homeward way, and within an hour both were at Mr. Keith's offering their services in nursing or any thing else that was needed.

"You are very kind," Mrs. Keith said, "but I think we can manage for a while, and that you should save your strength for those who need it more."

The little ones objected to being waited upon by strangers, and Celestia Ann insisted that she wanted no help with her housework or cooking; so the ladies departed after exacting a promise that they should be sent for if needed.

That time came soon; before the crisis was passed with Annis and Fan, three more of the children, Zillah, Cyril, and Don, were taken down; then the father; and oh, what a weary burden of care, anxiety, toil and grief fell upon the mother and sister! They had sore need now of all the faith, patience and hope they had garnered up in happier days; of all the great and precious promises they had learned to lean upon.

Rupert was slowly dressing himself one August morning, feeling weak and ill, when his mother's pale, sorrowful face looked in at his door.

He tried to brighten up and seem strong and well as he turned to meet her, asking, "How are you, mother dear? and the sick ones? I hope you all slept."

"Not much," she said, vainly striving after the accustomed cheery tone. "Annis and Fan did pretty well (oh, I am thankful that the doctor considers them out of danger now, if we can only give them the good nursing they need,) but poor Cyril is quite delirious, very, very sick, I fear, and Zillah not much better. Besides—" but here her voice broke, and for a moment she was unable to go on.

"O mother, not another one down?" he cried, "You and Mildred will be killed with so much nursing."

"Rupert, it is your father now," she sobbed. "He tries to makes us believe it is not much; that he'll sleep it off in an hour or so, but oh, I can see that he's very sick."

"My father very sick," he echoed, aghast; "poor father! and you must lose his help with the others, and have him to nurse, too!"

"That is not the worst of it. He is suffering and perhaps in danger. Celestia Ann has breakfast nearly ready. I want you to eat at once then go for the doctor (he did not come last night) and call and tell Mrs. Chetwood and Mrs. Prior what a sick household we are and that now if they can give me help in nursing, I shall be very glad and thankful."

Mrs. Keith passed on into the kitchen.

"Breakfast's on table," said Celestia Ann. "You just sit down and eat, Mis' Keith; fur you look ready to drop. I'll pour you out a cup o' coffee, and then run in and look after the sick till you're done."

"Thank you," Mrs. Keith said, "though I have no desire for food, I will accept your offer, for I do feel faint and empty. Tell Mildred to come too, as soon as she can be spared."

Rupert and Ada came in together at that moment and took their places at the table.

"Only three of us this morning, 'stead of ten," Ada remarked sadly.

"Well, we'll hope the others will all be back soon;" said Rupert, longing to comfort and cheer his mother.

His head ached and chills were creeping down his back, but he said nothing about it, drank his coffee, forced himself to eat a little, and presently declaring himself done, put on his hat and hurried away on his errand.

It was now a fortnight since Annis had been taken ill and not a drop of rain had fallen yet. The nights and mornings were chilly and damp, then the sun rose and shone all day with a fierce, burning heat that scorched everything it touched; and day by day the fever had found new victims till every physician's hands were full to overflowing.

"How chilly it is!" thought Rupert, as he hastened down the path to the gate, "but it'll be hot enough presently," he added, looking up at the sky; "not a cloud to be seen, and the sun will be glaring down on us as fiercely as ever. I think if there isn't some change soon we'll all sicken and die."

He walked on up the street. Doors and windows were closed; scarcely any one seemed astir.

"They're sleeping late," he thought "Well who can blame them? they're either sick themselves or worn out taking care of the sick."

He came first to the hotel. Mrs. Prior was very busy getting breakfast, but stepped to the door to hear his message.

"I'm dreadful sorry;" she said, "and I'll call round, tell your mother, just as soon as I can; but I've half a dozen boarders down with the fever, and only one girl; the rest's all gone off to 'tend to their own folks; for the fever's bad all round in the country; and between them and the town folks the doctors is goin' night and day."

"I don't see how you can come at all then, Mrs. Prior," Rupert said, "I should think your hands must be more than full here at home."

"I'll come if I can, you may depend," she answered, "for I think a sight of your mother."

The boy sighed heavily as he turned and went on his way. How much of the brightness seemed to have gone out of life just then.

Dr. Grange's house was a few steps further on. An old lady, the doctor's mother, answered his knock.

"The doctor is in bed and asleep just now," she said. "He has had very little rest for the last three weeks, was up all night out in the country, and came home with a heavy chill. And the rest of the family are all down with the fever except myself and little five year old Ellen."

"What are we coming to!" exclaimed the lad.

"I don't know," she answered: "but God is our refuge and strength; a very present help in trouble!'"

"I do not know what to do," said Rupert, looking sadly perplexed and anxious; "mother says my father and Cyril are both very ill."

"I will tell the doctor when he wakes, and perhaps he will be able to go down. It would hardly be worth while to send you for another, for they're all equally busy."

"Thank you," he said, "we would not like to have to try another," and bidding her good morning, he went on his way to the Squire's.

Mrs. Chetwood put on her bonnet at once and went with him.

"Claudina would come too," she said, "but two of the boys are sick, and I'm afraid she is taking the fever herself."

"It seems as if everybody is taking it," said Rupert. "Mrs. Chetwood, is it often so sickly here?"

"Never was known to be quite so bad before," she answered; "they say the oldest inhabitant doesn't remember such a time. Do you notice how quiet and empty the streets are?"

"Yes, ma'am; people seem to be very late in getting up. The stores are all shut up still."

"There's no business doing at all," she returned, "and people are not up because they're ill; too ill, most of them, to leave their beds.

"There are not many houses in town where more than one or two are able to crawl about to help themselves or wait on the sick.

"And Dr. Grange tells me it is just as bad in the country. The harvest is uncommonly fine, but there's nobody to gather it in; there are loads of wild berries ripe on the bushes, but nobody able to pick them.

"Emmaretta Lightcap died yesterday; I was there last night and helped to lay her out. All the rest of the family are in bed with the fever, except poor Gotobed and his mother.

"Oh, it's a sorrowful time! Effie and one or two of the little ones are sick at Mr. Prescott's, and in the next house not one of the family is able to be out of bed."

Mr. Keith was quite as ill as his wife feared.

She devoted herself principally to him, while Mrs. Chetwood and Mildred together nursed the others.

Rupert had had a chill and fever followed in due season; but he managed to keep up and to conceal his illness from all but Celestia Ann, who did the best she could for him.

Mrs. Prior came in for an hour in the after noon, and taking Mildred's place enabled her to lie down for a little greatly needed rest and sleep.

Mrs. Chetwood spent the day and night with them, but then went home to return no more, her own family being no longer able to dispense with her care and nursing.

Zillah was slightly better that morning, but Mr. Keith, Cyril and Don were all delirious and so evidently in danger that the hearts of mother and sister were very heavy.

Mrs. Keith scarcely left her husband's bed side except occasionally to pass into the next room and bend for a moment over her little boys, to take Annis or Fan in her arms to caress, and reluctantly put them down again, and to whisper a word of hope and encouragement to Mildred, the other little girls and Rupert.

Celestia Ann had full sway in the kitchen, and with genuine kindness of heart took charge of the rest of the house, so far as she could, and prepared delicacies for the sick.

She was a great help in looking after the convalescing, had always a cheery word ready for the weary, anxious nurses, and in short proved herself invaluable in this great emergency.

What then was their distress and despair when they found they must lose her.

Glancing from the window on the morning of the second day after that which Mrs. Chetwood had spent with them, Mildred saw a countryman passing round toward the kitchen, and in a moment after his voice and Celestia Ann's could be heard in earnest colloquy, the latter interrupted by heavy sobs.

Then she appeared at the door of the nursery with her apron to her eyes and silently beckoned to Mildred.

"What is it?" the latter asked going to her.

"Why my brother's come to fetch me home, and I'll have to go, bad as I hate to leave you; for if I do say it that shouldn't, I don't see how you're agoin' to git along without me."

"Nor I," said Mildred, aghast. "O, Celestia Ann, must you go?"

"Yes; can't help it; for they're all down with the fever, 'cept mother (and she's poorly) and this brother that's come after me; and he's got a chill on him now. So I'll have to pick up my duds and be off right away."

"Yes, of course you must go to your own when they need you," said Mildred; "unless they could get some one else. O, Celestia Ann, don't you think it possible they could?"

"No; I know they can't, Miss Mildred; there's no help to be got these days for love or money; and the Lord only knows what's to become of us all!

"Sam says there's several died in our neighborhood a'ready, just for want o' good nussin and proper victuals; so the doctor says."

"And just so it will be with us," sobbed Mildred sinking into a chair and covering her face with her hands. "I cannot nurse them all properly, and cook what they need to eat; and oh, it is so terrible to think they must die for want of it."

"It's awful, and I'm dreadful sorry for you and everybody," sighed Celestia Ann, wiping away the tears that were streaming over her cheeks. "Maybe you might git Mis' Rood to come in for a few days. I'll git Sam to go and see while I'm a pickin' up my things.

"She ain't much for cookin' I don't suppose, but she could clean up and do that big washin', and help a liftin' the sick ones. That is if she'll come; but I dunno but she may be down sick herself."

Sam kindly undertook the errand, but alas, Mrs. Rood was "down sick herself," and no help could be had from that quarter, nor apparently, from any other; and with many tears Celestia Ann took her departure, saying, "I'll come back as soon as I kin, if I keep well, and my folks gits able to do without me."