Of course she did not write all
this in just these same words but she made her meaning very clear.
Behind the closed door Dr. Brown and Robin fought for the little life.
Only once the tired doctor said more than a few words--then it was to
tell Robin that she had shown remarkable judgment in her care of Susy
and that--if the child pulled through--it would be due entirely to her
prompt and thorough action. This little thought helped Robin through the
long hours, when her weary eyelids stuck over her hot, dry eyes and her
head ached. All night she willingly fetched and carried at the doctor's
command, stepping noiselessly, sometimes lingering at the foot of the
bed to watch the little face for a sign of change.
Far into the morning the vigil lasted. Then Dr. Brown, his face haggard
but his eyes shining, whispered to Robin to go off downstairs and eat a
good breakfast--that Susy was "better."
"You mean--she'll--get well?"
The doctor nodded. "I believe so. She's sleeping now. Go, my dear."
Robin peeped at the child's face. The deadly pallor and the purple flush
of fever had gone, the lips and eyelids had relaxed into the natural
repose of sleep.
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