When the doctor returned he noticed that there had been
tears in Mrs. Carleton's eyes. She was still holding the baby, but
now resigned the quiet sleeper to its mother, kissing it as she did
so. He saw her look with a tender, meaning interest at the white,
patient face of the sick woman, and heard her say, as she spoke a
word or two in parting,--
"I shall not forget you."
"That's a sad case, doctor," remarked the lady, as she took her
place in the carriage.
"It is. But she is sweet and patient."
"I saw that, and it filled me with surprise. She tells me that her
husband died a year ago."
"Yes."
"And that she has supported herself by shirt-making."
"Yes."
"But that she had become too feeble for work, and is dependent on a
younger sister, who earns a few dollars, weekly, at book-folding."
"The simple story, I believe," said the doctor.
Mrs. Carleton was silent for most of the way home; but thought was
busy. She had seen a phase of life that touched her deeply.
"You are better for this ride," remarked the doctor, as he handed
her from the carriage.
"I think so," replied Mrs. Carleton.
"There has not been so fine a color on your face for months.
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