Ziza smiled again, and said she didn't feel like either the one or the other. "My poor lamb," said the clown, sitting down on the bed, and parting the dark hair on Ziza's forehead, with a hand as gentle as that of a mother, "we're goin' now. Time's up. Shall I ask Mrs Smith to stay with you again, till we come back?" "Oh, no, no!" cried the child hurriedly, and squeezing her fingers into her eyes, as if to shut out some disagreeable object. "Not Mrs Smith. I'd rather be alone." "I _wish_ I could stay with you, Ziza," said Jim earnestly. "It's of no use wishin', Jim," said his father, "you can't get off a single night. If you was to fail 'em you'd lose your engagement, and we can't afford that just at this time, you know; but I'll try to get Mrs James to come. She's a good woman, I know, and--" "Mister Cattley," interrupted Willie, "if you'll allow a partic'larly humble individual to make a observation, I would say there's nothin' in life to prevent me from keeping this 'ere fairy company till you come back. I've nothin' particular to do as I knows on, an' I'm raither fond of lonely meditation; so if the fairy wants to go to sleep, it'll make no odds to me, so long's it pleases her." "Thankee, lad," said the clown; "but you'll git wearied, I fear, for we won't be home till mornin'--" "Ah!" interrupted Willie, "till daylight does appear. But that's no odds, neither--'cause I'm not married yet, so there's nobody awaitin' for me--and" (he winked to Jim at this point) "my mother knows I'm out." The clown grinned at this. "You'd make one of _us_, youngster," said he, "if ye can jump. Howsever, I'm obliged by your offer, so you can stay if Ziza would like it." Ziza said she _would_ like it with such goodwill, that Willie adored her from that moment, and vowed in his heart he would nurse her till she--he did not like to finish the sentence; yet, somehow, the little that he had heard and seen of the child led him irresistibly to the conclusion that she was dying. This having been satisfactorily arranged, the Cattleys, senior and junior, threw cloaks round them, exchanged their wigs for caps; and, regardless of the absurd appearance of their faces, hurried out to one of the minor theatres, with heavy hearts because of the little fairy left so ill and comfortless at home. In a few minutes they were tumbling on the stage, cracking their jokes, and convulsing the house with laughter. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. WILLIE IN A NEW LIGHT. Left alone with the fairy, Willie Willders began his duties as sick-nurse, a sphere of action into which he had never thought of being introduced, even in his wildest dreams.