And poor, sick May turned wearily on her pillow. "You're not going to die, May," said Lottie impatiently, "and I hope you'll see lots of Christmas trees--if you don't this year. It's your turn to go to Aunt Laura's next." May sighed. "I'm too tired, Lottie. I never shall go." "Of course you're tired," said Lottie in the same fretful tone; "nothing to do, nothing to see, nothing to read--just lying on your back, week after week, in this old log house. It's enough to make anybody sick. I s'pose it's awful wicked, but I think it's just too bad that we two girls have to live in this mean old shanty, with nobody but stupid old Nancy!" "Oh, Lottie," said the sick girl anxiously, "don't forget father, and what a comfort we are to him." "You are, you mean," interrupted Lottie. "No, I mean you. I'm an expense and care to him; but what could he do without you? And remember," she went on softly, "how he hated to bring us to this lonely little place, and wanted to put us in school, and leave us, but we begged him"-- "Yes, I remember," said Lottie regretfully, "and I am wicked as I can be to talk so; but thinking about Aunt Laura's tree, it did seem too bad you couldn't have one, too. You have so few pleasures." "Oh, I have lots of pleasures!" cried May eagerly. "I love to lie here and look out into the woods,--the dear, sweet, quiet woods,--and remember the nice times we used to have before I was sick; and I like"-- "You like some dinner by this time, I guess," said Nancy, coming in with her dinner nicely served on a tray. Lottie got up, went into the next room, threw an old shawl over her head, and stepped out of the side door into the woods, for the house had not been built long, and all the clearing was on the other side. Though it was winter, it was not very cold, and the woods were almost as attractive as in summer. Walking a few rods, Lottie sat down on her favorite seat, a fallen tree trunk covered with moss. "I declare, it's too bad!" she began to herself. "I believe May is dying because it's so stupid here. I could 'most die myself. I wonder if I couldn't do something to amuse her. Couldn't I buy something, or make something," she went on, slowly turning over in her mind all her resources. "Let me see,--I have two dollars left. I wish I could buy her a set of chessmen! She and father play so much. Wait! wait!" she cried excitedly, jumping up and dancing around; "I have it! I can make her a set like Kate Selden's, or something like it, I know! Oh, dear! won't that be splendid! How delighted she will be! But where'll I get the figures?" She sat down again more soberly, and fell into a brown study. "My two dollars will buy enough china dolls, I guess, and I'll get Aunt Laura to send them to me by mail." This was a bright thought, and the more she thought of it, the greater grew her plan. She remembered several things she could make, and before she went into the house, she even ventured to dream of a tree.