sick violets, and all the pretty curls were tangled on the pillow. Rosy no longer sung to Bella, talked of "three dear little girls" and Mr. Thomas, tigers and bangles, Cis and necklaces, hens and gates. She ceased to call for Mamma, asked no more why her "missionary man" never came, and took no notice of the anxious old faces bending over her. She lay in a stupor, and the doctor held the little wasted hand, and tried to see the face of his watch with dim eyes as he counted the faint pulse, whispering solemnly,—
"We can only hope and wait now. Sleep alone can save her."
As the sisters sat, one on either side the narrow bed that day, and Cicely walked restlessly up and down the long hall below, where both doors stood open to let in the cool evening air, as the sun went down, a quick but quiet step came up the steps, and Mr. Dover walked in without ringing. He had been away, and coming home an hour ago, heard the sad news. Losing not a moment, he hurried to ask about his little Button, and his face showed how great his love and fear were, as he said in a broken whisper,
"Will she live? My mother never told me how serious it was, or I should have returned at once."
"We hope so, sir, but—" And there Cicely's voice failed, as she hid her face and sobbed.
"My dear girl, don't give way. Keep up your heart, hope, pray, will that the darling shall live, and that may do some good. We can't let her go! we won't let her go! Let me see her; I know much of fevers far worse than this, and might be able to suggest
