“Do you suppose,” she said, glancing at black Dinah, “that Margaretta will let you play with Dinah when you are well?”
“I don’t want to get well,” said Sophia Jane at once.
“Don’t—want—to get—well!” repeated Susan in surprise.
“I shouldn’t mind always being ill,” said Sophia Jane. “Everyone’s kind, no one scolds you; you have nice things to eat, and lemonade. I don’t want to get well.”
“I want you to get well to play with me again,” said Susan. “And I know everybody wants you to get well.”
“Why do they?” asked the invalid.
“Oh, because—of course they do,” was the only reason Susan could give.
“Well,” said Sophia Jane thoughtfully, “of course there’s the trouble of it, and the doctor to pay.”
She wrinkled her brow as she said this, and looked sideways at Susan with her old cunning expression.
“Oh, it isn’t that,” said Susan very earnestly; “why, they’re all dreadfully sorry. That night you were worst, you know, Aunt Hannah cried, and every one, and so did Buskin.”