"If we had known she was going to have scarlet fever, we wouldn't have minded," said Florrie.
"But how could we know," returned Kate, impatiently. "The thing is, we ought to have known better than to get vexed with her. We might have guessed that there was some reason for her being so very cross."
On the morrow the children were very anxious to know how their cousin was, but the news which came was not comforting. Little Edith was very ill; and as the days went on, the reports grew more and more alarming. The fever ran high, and soon Miss Jameson knew that the child's life was despaired of. She hardly dared to tell the little girls how ill their cousin was; but they knew enough to make them very unhappy whenever they thought of cousin Edith.
The doll dressing was meanwhile proceeding. Topsy was fully dressed, and looked resplendent in her yellow satin gown; Miss Lily's blue frock was almost finished, and promised to suit her charmingly, though Florrie had been rather careless in gathering the skirt, and had been made to do the work a second time. Kate's baby doll's clothes, which required to be made so very neatly, were nearly completed. The scrap books too were progressing. But the children's pleasure in their work was clouded by the thought of their cousin's peril. On Florrie's heart it weighed most heavily. She felt that if cousin Edith died, nothing could ever make her happy again. She had fancied that she did not love Edith; but now she knew that she did love her, and that she would miss her cousin sadly if she were taken away.
Another Sunday came, and little Edith was no better. Katie and Florrie could not keep from crying when in the morning service they heard the clergyman request the prayers of the congregation on behalf of Edith Hobson, who was lying seriously ill. They cried again when they reached home, and found that a message had been sent by their grandmother saying that Edith was no better, and the doctor had little hope of her recovery.
"What will Aunt Sophie do if she dies?" sobbed Kate; "the only little girl she has!"
Florrie said nothing. She was quieter than Kate; but it was not because her feelings were less deeply moved.
Miss Jameson did her best to comfort her pupils. She spoke to them of the Saviour who loves little children, and reminded them how He had healed the nobleman's son, and raised the daughter of Jairus. Then she knelt in prayer with them, and asked the Lord to spare little Edith's life, if it were His will.
That night when the children had been long in bed, Miss Jameson sat alone by the schoolroom fire. She was thinking sadly of the little life that she feared would soon pass from earth, and the terrible blank that its departure would make in the mother's life. All was still about her when suddenly she was startled by the sound of a step on the stairs. What could it mean! Was one of the little girls walking in her sleep? The next moment, to Miss Jameson's astonishment, the door opened, and Florrie appeared in her white night dress, with her dark hair streaming over her shoulders. At first Miss Jameson imagined that she was dreaming; but it was no dream that had brought to Florrie's face that look of deep distress. With a sob she threw herself on her knees beside her governess.
"Miss Jameson! I thought I should find you here, and I could not bear it any longer. I am so miserable, oh, so very miserable."