"How can you be so silly, Lucy--so imprudent! I will not have it. You don't allow yourself a chance to get well--giving way to these low spirits! What is the matter?" "It is nothing," she replied, with another of those long sighs. "I was talking a little to Charley, and a fit of crying came on. It has not harmed me, Eustace." "Charley, boy, I saw some fresh sweet violets down in the dingle this morning. Go you and pick some for mamma," he said. "Never mind your hat: it is as warm as midsummer." I was ready for the dingle, which was only across the field, and to pick violets at any time, and I ran out. Leah Williams was coming in at the garden gate. "Now, Master Charles! Where are you off to? And without your hat!" "I'm going to the dingle, to get some fresh violets for mamma. Papa said my hat did not matter." "Oh," said Leah, glancing doubtfully at the window. I glanced too. He had sat down on the sofa by mamma then, and was talking to her earnestly, his head bent. She had her handkerchief up to her face. Leah attacked me again. "You've been crying, you naughty boy! Your eyes are wet still. What was that for?" I did not say what: though I had much ado to keep the tears from falling. "Leah," I whispered, "do you think mamma will get well?" "Bless the child!" she exclaimed, after a pause, during which she had looked again at the window and back at me. "Why, what's to hinder it?--with all this fine, beautiful warm weather! Don't you turn fanciful, Master Charley, there's a darling! And when you've picked the violets, you come to me; I'll find a slice of cake for you." Leah had been with us about two years, as upper servant, attending upon mamma and me, and doing the sewing. She was between twenty and thirty then, an upright, superior young woman, kind in the main, though with rather a hard face, and faithful as the day. The other servants called her Mrs. Williams, for she had been married and was a widow. Not tall, she yet looked so, she was so remarkably thin. Her gray eyes were deep-set, her curls were black, and she had a high, fresh colour. Everyone, gentle and simple, wore curls at that time. The violets were there in the dingle, sure enough; both blue and white. I picked a handful, ran in with them, and put them on my mother's lap. The Rector was sitting by her still, but he got up then. "Oh, Charley, they are very sweet," she said with a smile--"very sweet and lovely. Thank you, my precious boy, my darling." She kissed me a hundred times. She might have kissed me a hundred more, but papa drew me away. "Do not tire yourself any more to-day, Lucy; it is not good for you. Charley, boy, you can take your fairy tales and show them to Leah." * * * * *