but that was not very often, and she longed to see somebody, and hear something besides her aunt's dry questions and answers. One afternoon Ellen was sitting, alone as usual, bolstered up in bed. Her little hymn-book was clasped in her hand; though not equal to reading, she felt the touch of it a solace to her. Half-dozing, half-waking, she had been perfectly quiet for some time, when the sudden and not very gentle opening of the room door caused her to start and open her eyes. They opened wider than usual, for, instead of her Aunt Fortune, it was the figure of Miss Nancy Vawse that presented itself. She came in briskly, and, shutting the door behind her, advanced to the bedside. "Well," said she, "there you are! Why, you look smart enough. I've come to see you." "Have you?" said Ellen, uneasily. "Miss Fortune's gone out, and she told me to come and take care of you; so I'm a going to spend the afternoon." "Are you?" said Ellen, again. "Yes; ain't you glad? I knew you must be lonely, so I thought I'd come." There was a mischievous twinkle in Nancy's eyes. Ellen for once in her life wished for her aunt's presence. "What are you doing?" "Nothing," said Ellen. "Nothing indeed! It's a fine thing to lie there and do nothing. You won't get well in a hurry, I guess — will you? You look as well as I do this minute. Oh, I always knew you was a sham." "You are very much mistaken," said Ellen, indignantly; "I have been very sick, and I am not at all well yet." "Fiddle-de-dee! it's very nice to think so; I guess you're lazy. How soft and good those pillows do look to be sure. Come, Ellen, try getting up a little. I believe you hurt yourself with sleeping; it'll do you good to be out of bed awhile; come, get up!" She pulled Ellen's arm as she spoke. "Stop, Nancy — let me alone!" cried Ellen, struggling with all her force — "I musn't — I can't! I musn't get up! What do you mean? I'm not able to sit up at all; let me go!" She succeeded in freeing herself from Nancy's grasp. "Well, you're an obstinate piece," said the other; "have your own way. But mind, I'm left in charge of you; is it time for you to take your physic?" "I am not taking any," said Ellen. "What are you taking?" "Nothing but gruel and little things." " 'Gruel and little things;' little things means something good, I s'pose. Well, is it time for you to take your gruel or one of the little things?" "No, I don't want any." "Oh, that's nothing; people never know what's good for them; I'm your nurse now, and I'm going to give it to you when I think you want it. Let me feel your pulse: — yes, your pulse says gruel is wanting. I shall put some down to warm right away." "I shan't take it," said Ellen.