"They carry them like that at the hospital," the frightened woman explains. "But they are always dead!" In the kitchen sits a woman, visiting the cook. Her face is the very picture of trouble. She rocks her body as she talks. "I buried seven," she says. "Seven children?" "Yes, and every one with membrainyous croup. They may call it what they please. Ah! I know; I know!"
It gives him something to do to get it. He enters the kitchen. "Davy has the asthma," he says to the desolate mother as he passes. "Davy has the membrainyous croup," she replies: "I saw that a week ago. Makes no difference what the doctors say; they can't help no child." "Where is that doctor, Esther?" the man says. "He was here while you were gone. He said he would return soon.