"I will try, Miss Bess," said Fred slowly. "I know I am a baby, but I really do want to be brave."
"That is my dear Fred! The old Greeks used to say, 'Not to live, but to live well.' We will take that for our motto, and hope that the day will come when you can feel that your life has done as much good in the world as it might have done if you could have seen us all."
As Bessie paused, the old clock in the hall slowly struck twelve. She counted the strokes, and then said gently,—
"Now, my hero, beginning with this new day, we will try to live bravely and well, and to make the very best of our lives. And when it is harder than you can bear, come right to me, and we will talk it all over together and see if we can't make it easier. I don't like to have you go off by yourself in this way, as you did to-night. Haven't you been asleep at all?"
"I couldn't. I heard you come to the door, and I tried to keep still, for fear you'd worry. I'm sorry I disturbed you, but I am so glad you came. You do make things batter, somehow!"
"I am so glad," said Bess; "that is what I am for. But now I want you to stop talking and go to sleep. Do you think you will?"
"I'll try," said the child, "but I don't feel much like it. My head aches a little."
Bess laid her hand on his throbbing forehead.
"Your head feels so warm," she said. "You lie down and don't talk any more, and I will bathe it a little. Perhaps that will make you sleepy."
She turned and shook up the pillows, and the child lay back with a grateful sigh, as she gently rubbed and patted his face. For a time he was in constant nervous motion, but he gradually became quiet. At length she fancied he was asleep, and was just slipping noiselessly from the bed, when he asked,—