And there, among the soft pillows and snowy linen on which I had often looked with almost envious eyes, and which now seemed so much to rest me, I was laid. Of the weary weeks which followed, I have only a confused recollection. I know that the room was darkened as far as possible, and that before the window at the foot of the bed, grandma’s black shawl was hung, one corner being occasionally pinned back when more light was needed. After a while it seemed to me that it was Lizzie, instead of myself who was sick, and the physician said she had a fever, which had been long coming on, but was undoubtedly hastened by her sleeping on the wet grass in the night. And so we all trod softly about the house, speaking in whispers, and lifting the door-latches carefully, while Lizzie, with my cap and night dress on, lay all day long in bed, never speaking, never moving, except when the long clock in the corner struck off the hour; then she would moan as if in pain, and once when somebody, who looked like Lizzie, but was still I, Rosa, stole on tiptoe to her side, with a bouquet of flowers, which Maria had brought, she put her arms around my neck, and pointing to the clock, whispered, “It keeps saying ‘She’s dead’!—‘She’s dead’!—She’s dead!’ Won’t you tell it to be still?” Then we knew that it disturbed her, and so the old clock was stopped, a thing which grandma said “had not been in fifty odd years,” except the time when grandpa died, and then, with the going out of his life, the clock itself ran down. All the night through the lamp burned upon the table where stood the vials, the Dover powders, and the cups, while Lizzie, with her great blue eyes so much like mine, wide open, lay watching the flickering shadows on the wall, counting the flowers on the paper bordering, wondering if there ever were _blue_ roses, and thinking if there were that they must smell as the dinner did beneath the chestnut tree. At last, when the family were wearied out with watching, the neighbors were called in, and among them our schoolteacher, who seemed to tread on air, so light and noiseless were her footsteps; and Lizzie, when she saw how kind she was, wondered she had not loved her better. Then came other watchers equally kind with Miss Phillips, but possessing far less tact for nursing; and even now I have a vivid remembrance of their annoying attempts “to fix me so I’d be more comfortable.” Was I lying in a position satisfactory to myself, I must be lifted up, my pillows shaken, turned over, and my head placed so high that my chin almost touched my chest. Did I fall into a little doze, I must rouse up to tell whether I were asleep or not, and did I get into a sound slumber, I must surely wake enough to say whether I wanted anything.