"He likes to get home, like others of his tribe. Come;" and the
doctor held out his hand in a persistent way.
Mrs. Carleton looked at the poor tenements before which the doctor's
carriage had stopped with something of disgust and something of
apprehension.
"I can never go in there, doctor."
"Why not?"
"I might take some disease."
"Never fear. More likely to find a panacea there."
The last sentence was in an undertone.
Mrs. Carleton left the carriage, and crossing the pavement, entered
one of the houses, and passed up with the doctor to the second
story. To his light tap at a chamber door a woman's voice said,--
"Come in."
The door was pushed open, and the doctor and Mrs. Carleton went in.
The room was small, and furnished in the humblest manner, but the
air was pure, and everything looked clean and tidy. In a chair, with
a pillow pressed in at her back for a support, sat a pale, emaciated
woman, whose large, bright eyes looked up eagerly, and in a kind of
hopeful surprise, at so unexpected a visitor as the lady who came in
with the doctor. On her lap a baby was sleeping, as sweet, and pure,
and beautiful a baby as ever Mrs. Carleton had looked upon.
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