Give the poor perishing thing a tablespoonful, and try to be quick!" "Why, my dear, a tablespoonful might--" "Don't drive me frantic!.

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There, there, there, my precious, my own; it's nasty bitter stuff, but it's good for Nelly--good for mother's precious darling; and it will make her well.

There, there, there, put the little head on mamma's breast and go to sleep, and pretty soon--oh, I know she can't live till morning! Mortimer, a tablespoonful every half-hour will--Oh, the child needs belladonna, too; I know she does--and aconite.