The unhappy state of affairs at the Allen House made it hardly proper for my wife to continue her visits there, and Mrs.Dewey did not venture to call upon her.

The trial of the case would not come up for some two or three months, and both parties were waiting, in stern resolution, for the approaching contest.
One day I received a message from Mrs.Dewey, desiring me to call and see two of her children who were sick.

On visiting them--the two youngest--I found them seriously ill, with symptoms so like scarletina, that I had little question in my mind as to the character of the disease from which they were suffering.

My second visit confirmed these fears.
"It is scarlet fever ?" said Mrs.Dewey, looking at me calmly, as I moved from the bed-side after a careful examination of the two little ones.
I merely answered-- "Yes." There was no change in her countenance.
"They are both very ill." She spoke with a slow deliberateness, that was unusual to her.
"They are sick children," said I.
"Sick, it may be, unto death." There was no emotion in her voice.
I looked at her without replying.
"I can see them die, Doctor, if that must be." Oh, that icy coldness of manner, how it chilled me! "No hand but mine shall tend them now, Doctor.

They have been long enough in the care of others--neglected--almost forgotten--by their unworthy mother.