"Mrs. Worthington has done you good, I guess," said the nurse, arranging the rocking-chair and helping Rhoda to rise. "She is a real comfort in a sick-room or where any one is in trouble." "She must have seen a great deal of trouble herself," remarked Rhoda, "losing all her children so. I remember Cathy and Rosy so well—such nice pretty little girls with such red, round cheeks." "Yes, they all seemed healthy, but they pined and died one after the other. John lived to be a young man in college, and it did seem as if he would be spared, but he fell into a decline and died like the rest." "And yet she seems so cheerful!" said Rhoda. "I don't see how she can." "I expect she has to be," remarked Mrs. Lambert. "People that have had such great troubles can't afford to nurse and pet them all the time; they would go crazy if they did. Besides, Mrs. Worthington is always looking out for chances to help and comfort other people, and so she gets helped and comforted herself. "'He that watereth shall be watered also himself,—' "you know the good book says. Do you think you are going to be able to sit up?" "Oh yes I feel a great deal stronger," said Rhoda. Nevertheless, when Mrs. Lambert came up for the tray, she found her patient quite ready to lie down again. "I thought I was going to be ever so smart, but I got tired very soon," said Rhoda. "I wonder how I came to lose my strength so?" "You have been very sick, child; and besides, you had a dreadful shock. It was enough to kill you, I am sure. Can I do any more for you?" "No, thank you; only, please, will you ask Mrs. Worthington to come in a minute before she goes, if it isn't too much trouble?" "Oh, she won't think it a trouble. She is sitting with Miss Brown." "Did you say Miss Brown was sick? I suppose it is the same Miss Brown I remember—the one who always had a little dog?" "Yes, the very same. She has had a bad fall and broken her leg above the ankle, and Doctor H— says she won't walk again in a good while, if ever. She is an old lady, you see. She is confined to her bed, of course; and as she can't read much lying down, it is pretty dull for her." "I want to tell you one thing, Mrs. Worthington," said Rhoda when that lady entered: "I don't want you to think that Mr. and Mrs. Bowers ever abused me. They were always as good to me as they could be till the baby was born, and even after that, though they never were quite the same." "I understand," said Mrs. Worthington. "I suppose they have never been heard from," said Rhoda, wistfully. "Do they know I have been sick, I wonder?" "Yes; Mrs. Mulford wrote, but she never had any answer, except that Mr. Bowers sent a box of things for you, and also some money. I am afraid there is nothing to hope for in that quarter, my child."