"She has not been at all well for over a week," the lovely voice continued. "I am very much worried about her." Janet and Marcia glanced into each other's eyes in astonishment. Cecily ill--and Miss Benedict actually _caring_ about it! Here were surprises indeed! "Oh, I hope it's nothing serious!" exclaimed Marcia, anxiously. "I hope it is not--and I _think_ it is probably only the hot weather and--and want of exercise." Miss Benedict hesitated a little over the last. "She has been so--poorly, and has--has evidently been so anxious to--to see you, that I thought I would--surprise her by asking you to come and--visit her a while." It was plainly a struggle for Miss Benedict to make this seem the natural, normal thing to do. "Will you--come up to her room?" The girls were almost too stunned at the turn events had taken to reply. "Why--we'd be glad to," faltered Marcia, at last. "Then, if you will follow me--" Miss Benedict led the way, through the dark halls and up three pairs of stairs. At the door of a room on the fourth floor she paused, knocked, and then entered. They followed, dimly perceiving a little form in the bed, for the shutters, of course, were closed. As they entered after Miss Benedict Cecily sprang to a sitting posture, with a cry of mingled wonder, consternation, and joy. She, too, glanced uncertainly at Miss Benedict. "I have asked your friends to come and--and see you for a while," she explained hesitatingly to the bewildered child. "Perhaps it will make you--feel better." Then she turned abruptly and went out of the room, closing the door after her. For a moment they stared at one another. "Cecily!" cried Janet, at length, "what _does_ this all mean, anyway?" "I never dreamed of such a thing as seeing you--here!" faltered the invalid. "What made her do it?" demanded Marcia. "We found a note from her tied to our string. How did she know about it?" Cecily seemed to shrink back at this piece of news. "I told her, myself," she said. "I was very sick one night--I think I had a fever. My head was so hot and ached so. And she was--oh! so good to me! I could hardly believe it! She bathed my head, and sat by me, and put her cool hands on my forehead. It really seemed as if she--cared! And I felt so ashamed to think I'd--disobeyed her that I just told her right out all about it--how lonely I'd been, and how good you were to me, and how I'd enjoyed hearing from you." "And what did she say?" breathed Marcia, in an awe-struck whisper. "Not a word except, 'Never mind now, little girl!' And she never said a thing more about it. I didn't dream that she'd ever do such a thing as _send_ for you to come and see me!" They marveled over it all a moment in silence. Then Marcia burst out: "Oh, Cecily, we've been _so_ worried about you! We couldn't think why you didn't even take the letters any more. Have you been very ill?"