When Dr. Rodney came that morning, he found the child in a profound slumber.  “This,” said he, “is, I think, the crisis of the disease; on no account let him be disturbed; if he awakes conscious, he will in all human probability recover.”

And they watched him in breathless stillness, Mrs. Wharton on one side of the cradle, and his mother on a low stool beside him, with her sad gaze riveted on his little face, to catch his first waking glance, and to see whether the eye then beamed with intelligence, or not.

Oh, who can imagine the agony, the terrible suspense of such watching, but those who have sat as that poor mother did, over a loved one hovering between life and death.  And as Mrs. Wharton sat so silently opposite her, her thoughts were sometimes raised in prayer for her poor misguided sister; and sometimes she sat looking at her as a perfect enigma; with a heart so capable of loving devotedly, and yet so steeled against her own child, and so lovely and winning a little creature as Agnes.  It was a puzzle which she had often tried to solve, in vain.

After an hour more of deep slumber, Lewie started and awoke.  For a moment his glance rested with a bewildered expression upon his mother’s face; and then, stretching out his little hands, he said, “Mamma!” Mrs. Wharton’s attention was fixed upon the child; but when she turned to the mother, she saw her, white as the snow, falling back upon the floor.  The revulsion of feeling was too much for her; she had fainted.

When Mrs. Wharton came home that night, she said, “Agnes, my love, your little brother is better, and, with great care, he may now recover.”

“Oh, aunty!” exclaimed Agnes, joyfully, “and when may I see him?”

“You must be content to remain with us without going home for some days yet, dear; for the doctor says the most perfect quiet is necessary, and you could not see Lewie if you were at home.”

And now that the mind of little Agnes was comparatively free from anxiety, she entered with great delight into the preparations going on at Brook Farm for Christmas.

III.

Christmas Time.

       “In the sounding hall they wake
   The rural gambol.”—­THOMSON.

And now but a week was wanting to Christmas, and all was excitement and bustle among the little folks at Brook Farm.  Lewie was quite out of danger, and Agnes was as happy and as busy as any of her little cousins.  The cutter was in constant demand; for when one was particularly desirous to go over to the village on some secret expedition, that one must go alone, or only with those who were in her secret.  Many were the mysterious brown-paper parcels which were smuggled into the house, and hidden away under lock and key in various closets and drawers; and there were sudden scramblings and hidings of half-finished articles, when some member of the family who “was not to see” entered the room.