On the morning following the events narrated in the last chapter, Billy, whose dreams had been disturbed by thoughts of Frank, arose early, determined to call at Mrs. Howard’s, and see if they were in want of any thing.  But his mother, who had heard rumors of the scarlet fever, was up before him, and on descending to the kitchen, which with all her sickness Mrs. Bender kept in perfect order, Billy found her sitting before a blazing fire,—­her feet in hot water, and her head thrown back in a manner plainly showing that something new had taken hold of her in good earnest.  Billy was accustomed to her freaks, and not feeling at all frightened, stepped briskly forward, saying, “Well, mother, what’s the matter now?  Got a cramp in your foot, or what?”

“Oh, William,” said she, “I’ve lived through a sight but my time has come at last.  Such a pain in my head and stomach.  I do believe I’ve got the scarlet fever, and you must run for the doctor quick.”

“Scarlet fever!” repeated Billy, “why, you’ve had it once, and you can’t have it again, can you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,—­I never was like anybody else, and can have any thing a dozen times.  Now be spry and fetch the doctor but before you go, hand me my snuff-box and put the canister top heapin’ full of tea into the tea-pot.”

Billy obeyed, and then, knowing that the green tea would remove his mother’s ailment quite as soon as the physician, he hurried away towards Mrs. Howard’s.  The sun was just rising, and its red rays looked in at the window, through which the moonlight had shone the night before.  Beneath the window a single rose-tree was blooming, and on it a robin was pouring out its morning song.  Within the cottage there was no sound or token of life, and thinking its inmates were asleep, Billy paused several minutes upon the threshold, fearing that he should disturb their slumbers.  At last with a vague presentiment that all was not right, he raised the latch and entered, but instantly started back in astonishment at the scene before him.  On the little trundlebed lay Frank, cold and dead, and near him in the same long dreamless sleep was his mother, while between them, with one arm thrown lovingly across her brother’s neck, and her cheek pressed against his, lay Mary—­her eyelids moist with the tears which, though sleeping she still shed.  On the other side of Frank and nestled so closely to him that her warm breath lifted the brown curls from his brow, was Ella.  But there were no tear stains on her face, for she did not yet know how bereaved she was.

For a moment Billy stood irresolute, and then as Mary moved uneasily in her slumbers, he advanced a step or two towards her.  The noise aroused her, and instantly remembering and comprehending the whole, she threw herself with a bitter cry into Billy’s extended arms, as if he alone were all the protector she now had in the wide, wide world.  Ere long Ella too awoke, and the noisy outburst which followed the knowledge of her loss, made Mary still the agony of her own heart in order to soothe the more violent grief of her excitable sister.