Fogarty threw a heap of driftwood on the smouldering fire and filled the kettle; the dry splinters crackled into a blaze.
The noise aroused the child.
The doctor held up his finger for silence and again caressed the boy's forehead.

Fogarty, with a fresh look of alarm in his face, tiptoed back of the crib and stood behind the restless sufferer.

Under the doctor's touch the child once more became quiet.
"Is he bad off ?" the wife murmured when the doctor moved to the fire and began stirring the mush she was preparing.

"The other one went this way; we can't lose him.

You won't lose him, will ye, doctor, dear?
I don't want to live if this one goes.