"And she won't eat solids now, and she grows tired of mutton-broth, and sago, and egg-flip, and those things," put in Dobbs, in an injured tone, who was also sitting there. "I would try her with a little beef-tea, made with plenty of carrots and thickened with arrowroot," said Patience. "Beef-tea, made with carrots and thickened with arrowroot!" ungraciously responded Dobbs, who held in contempt every one's cooking except her own. "I can tell thee that it is one of the nicest things taken," said Patience. "It might be a change for the child." "How's it made?" asked Dobbs. "It might do for my missis: _she's_ tired of mutton broth." "Slice a pound of lean beef, and let it soak for two hours in a quart of cold water," replied Patience. "Then put meat and water into a saucepan, with a couple of large carrots scraped and sliced. Let it warm gradually, and then simmer for about four hours, thee putting salt to taste. Strain it off; and, when cold, take off the fat. As the broth is wanted, stir it up, and take from it as much as may be required, boiling the portion, for a minute, with a little arrowroot." Dobbs condescended to intimate that perhaps she might try it; though she'd be bound it was poor stuff. William had hastened to Mr. Ashley's. He was shown into a room to wait for Anna, and his attention was immediately attracted by a shelf full of children's story-books. He knew they were just what Janey was longing for. He had taken some in his hand, when Anna came in, ready for him, accompanied by Mrs. Ashley, Mary, and Henry. Then William became aware of the liberty he had taken in touching the things, and, in his self-consciousness, the colour, as usual, rushed to his face. It was a frank, ingenuous face, with its fair, open forehead, and its earnest, dark grey eyes; and Mrs. Ashley thought it so. "Were you looking at our books?" asked Henry, who was in a remarkably good humour. "I am sorry to have touched them," replied William. "I was thinking of something else." "I would be nearly sure thee were thinking of thy sister," cried Anna, who had an ever-ready tongue. "Yes, I was," replied William candidly. "I was wishing she could read them." "I have told her about the books," said Anna, turning from William to the rest. "I related to her as much as I could remember of 'Anna Ross:' that book which thee had in thy hand, William. She would so like to read them; she is always ill." "Is she very ill?" inquired Mrs. Ashley. "She is dying," replied Anna. It was the first intimation William had received of the great fear. His countenance changed, his heart beat wildly. "Oh, Anna! who says it?" he cried out, in a low, wailing tone. There was a dead silence. Anna's announcement sounded sufficiently startling, and Mrs. Ashley looked with sympathy at the evidently agitated boy. "There! that's my tongue!" cried Anna repentantly. "Patience says she wonders some one does not cut it out for me."