Lucilla turned round, saw a nice little roll cut into slices, and remembered that she _was_ hungry; and presently she was consuming it so prosperously under Miss Wells's superintendence that Honor ventured out to endeavour to retard Jones's desire to 'take away,' by giving him orders about the carriage, and then to attend to her other household affairs. By the time they were ended she found that Miss Wells had brought the child into the drawing-room, where she had at once detected the piano, and looking up at Honora said eagerly 'Now then!' And Honora fulfilled her promise, while the child stood by softened and gratified, until it was time to propose fetching little Owen, 'your little brother--you will like to have him here.' 'I want my father,' said Lucilla in a determined voice, as if nothing else were to satisfy her. 'Poor child, I know you do; I am so sorry for you, my dear little woman, but you see the doctors think papa is more likely to get better if he has not you to take care of!' 'I did not want my father to take care of _me_,' said the little lady, proudly; 'I take care of father, I always make his tea and warm his slippers, and bring him his coffee in the morning. And Uncle Kit never _will_ put his gloves for him and warm his handkerchief! Oh! what will he do? I can't bear it.' The violent grief so long kept back was coming now, but not freely; the little girl threw herself on the floor, and in a tumult of despair and passion went on, hurrying out her words, 'It's very hard! It's all Uncle Kit's doing! I hate him! Yes, I do.' And she rolled over and over in her frenzy of feeling. 'My dear! my dear!' cried Honora, kneeling by her, 'this will never do! Papa would be very much grieved to see his little girl so naughty. Don't you know how your uncle only wants to do him good, and to make him get well?' 'Then why didn't he take me?' said Lucilla, gathering herself up, and speaking sullenly. 'Perhaps he thought you gave papa trouble, and tired him.' 'Yes, that's it, and it's not fair,' cried the poor child again; 'why couldn't he tell me? I didn't know papa was ill! he never told me so, nor Mr. Pendy either; or, how I would have nursed him! I wanted to do so much for him; I wouldn't have asked him to tell me stories, nor nothing! No! And now they won't let me take care of him;' and she cried bitterly. 'Yes,' said good, gentle Miss Wells, thinking more of present comfort than of the too possible future; 'but you will go back to take care of him some day, my dear. When the spring comes papa will come back to his little girl.' Spring! It was a long way off to a mind of six years old, but it made Lucilla look more amiably at Miss Wells. 'And suppose,' proceeded that good lady, 'you were to learn to be as good and helpful a little girl as can be while he is gone, and then nobody will wish to keep you from him. How surprised he would be!' 'And then shall we go home?' said Lucilla.