"Well, my dear, I won’t deceive yer," the nurse answered; "poor little Mirry’s been took with the fever--yes, but don’t you go and fret yourself. Mrs. Bell’s waiting of her, and she wants for nought, and t’ doctor says it’s only a mild attack; only children runs up and down so quick, and she’s a bit more fretful than usual to-night, that’s all." "Mirry do want our Ada ’Liz’bet’," wailed the sick child in the next room. Mrs. Dicki’son turned her head weakly from side to side and trembled in every limb. "Why _can’t_ Ada Elizabeth go to her?" she burst out at last. The nurse coughed awkwardly. "Well, my dear," she began, "poor Ada Elizabeth isn’t ’ere." "Isn’t ’ere!" repeated Mrs. Dicki’son wildly, and just then her husband walked into the room and up to the bedside. She clutched hold of him with frantic eagerness. "Father," she cried hysterically, "is it true our Mirry’s took with the fever?" "Yes, Em’ly; but it’s a very mild case," he answered, feeling that it was best in her excited and nervous condition to tell her the exact truth at once. "She’s fretty to-night, but she’s not so ill that you need worry about her; she’s being took every care of." "But she’s crying for our Ada Elizabeth," Mrs. Dicki’son persisted. "Hark! There she is again. Why _can’t_ Ada Elizabeth be quick and go to her? Where is she? What does Mrs. Barker mean by saying she isn’t ’ere?" Mr. Dicki’son cast a wrathful glance at the nurse, but he did not attempt to hide from his wife any longer the fact that Ada Elizabeth was not in the house. "You know you was very ill, Em’ly, a bit back," he said, with an air and tone of humble apology, "and our Ada Elizabeth was taken with the fever just the day you was at the worst; and there was no one to wait on her, and the doctor would have her go to the hospital, and--what was I to do, Em’ly? It went against my very heart to let the little lass go, but she was willing, and you was taking all our time. I was very near beside myself, Em’ly I was, or I’d never have consented." Mrs. Dicki’son lay for some minutes in silence, exhausted by the violence of her agitation; then the fretful wail in the adjoining room broke the stillness again. "I do _want_ our Ada ’Liz’bet’," the child cried piteously. Mrs. Dicki’son burst out into passionate sobbing. "I lie ’ere and I can’t lift my finger for ’er," she gasped out, "and--and--it was just like Ada Elizabeth to go and get the fever when she was most wanted; she always was the contrariest child that I had, always."