Effie finished her chapter and thought of the medicine, and wondered if
it was really so important that it should go immediately; but she was
now in the most interesting part of the story, and she continued to read
a little farther. So the time stole away--I can't exactly tell how, but
perhaps some of my little readers (especially if they have read the
little book that delighted Effie so much) can imagine--till the dinner
hour. By this time Effie had finished her book, and her father and Harry
had returned from the sleigh-ride, the latter particularly in excellent
spirits. Effie thought of the medicine as she sat down to the table, and
in a moment all her enjoyment vanished; for she had been guilty of
procrastination, she had broken her word, and what excuse had she to
offer for her neglect? That she had scarcely known what she was about,
was no excuse at all, for she knew she ought to have known. She could
not, however, prevail upon herself to confess her fault, until after she
had repaired it, and so decided to go to Mrs Gilman's immediately after
dinner, and when she had set all right again, to tell the whole affair
to her parents and brother.

Harry was full of stories about his ride, and she heard as well as she
could about the farmer's big dog that at first wouldn't let them come
in, and afterwards shook hands with them, and the cat that could open
doors, and the hens and rabbits, but she forgot all about them in a
moment, and only wished she could slide away from the table and nobody
see her. At last the meal was ended, and they were about rising from the
table when they were startled by a message from Mrs Gilman's. Her little
boy was in convulsions.

'I will go immediately,' said Mr Maurice, 'poor little fellow! nothing
can save him now--that medicine was my last hope.'