She did, it is true, remark that Jane-Anne was "a dainty feeder" when the child left her dinner almost untasted, but she did not "hold with pampering children," and having eaten her own dinner with considerable relish, went back to her work, having pressed Jane-Anne into the service to do some basting. It was not till the child nearly fainted during the afternoon that Miss Morecraft awoke to the fact that Jane-Anne was really ill. She was quite kind-hearted, and was rather shocked that she should have made the child sew when she was evidently unfit for any effort of the kind. She put her to bed, made her a cup of tea, and persuaded the milkman to call and tell Mrs. Dew how matters were. During the evening, Mrs. Dew "popped round," took Jane-Anne’s temperature, rubbed her with liniment, scolded her well, kissed her and tucked her up in bed, and left her unaccountably cheered and comforted. Next morning a strange, new doctor came. He, too, listened at Jane-Anne’s back with his funny double telephone. He, too, shook his head and murmured something about crepitation and congestion, just like the doctor at "Bainbridge’s." "Shall I be able to go back to school?" Jane-Anne croaked eagerly. She was hoarse as a raven. "When does school begin?" asked the doctor. "It starts on the 5th of May. I have to go up on the 4th. It’s such a long way." "And this is the 29th of April. No, certainly you won’t. You won’t be fit for school for another fortnight, if then. Are you sorry?" "No," said Jane-Anne candidly, "_I_’m not sorry, but Aunt Martha’ll be very sorry." The doctor laughed. "Well, you must do your best to get well, that’s all; but it’s no use your going anywhere till that lung has ceased crackling." Miss Morecraft was far too busy to attend to Jane-Anne herself, and Mrs. Dew, recklessly extravagant if there was real cause for anxiety where her sister’s child was concerned, sent in a trained nurse. The nurse did her duty by Jane-Anne, but considered the post rather beneath her dignity, and was not interested in the fidgetty little girl with the large eyes who sent up her temperature in an aggravating way by getting excited over trifles. One evening, when the temperature was once more normal, Mrs. Dew informed Jane-Anne of her arrangement with Mr. Wycherly. "Shall we really live there? Will it be our very own home—not shared?" the child demanded with incredulous delight. "If there’s any sharing it’s Mr. Wycherly what shares his house with us," said Mrs. Dew. "I’m to have the cottage for myself, and we get the housekeeper’s room for a sitting-room." "And I shall live in the house with those nice boys?" Jane-Anne went on—"right in the same house."