Annie Kilburn

"Mrs. Savor! What can I say to you?"

"Oh, I don't presume but what you meant for the best, Miss Kilburn. But I

guess I shall know what to do next time. I kind of felt the whole while

that it was a resk. But it's all right now."

Annie realised, in her resentment of the poor thing's uncouth sorrow, that

she had spoken to her with the hope of getting, not giving, comfort.

"Yes, yes," she confessed. "I was to blame." The bereaved mother did not

gainsay her, and she felt that, whatever was the justice of the case, she

had met her present deserts.

She had to bear the discredit into which the seaside fell with the mothers

of all the other sick children. She tried to bring Dr. Morrell once to the

consideration of her culpability in the case of those who might have lived

if the case of Mrs. Savor's baby had not frightened their mothers from

sending them to the seaside; but he refused to grapple with the problem.

She was obliged to believe him when he said he should not have advised

sending any of the recent cases there; that the disease was changing its

character, and such a course could have done no good.

"Look here, Miss Kilburn," he said, after scanning her face sharply, "I'm

going to leave you a little tonic. I think you're rather run down."

"Well," she said passively.