"Come, shall I help you dress? Do you need assistance?"
Still no reply.
"Ah, what a pity you are ill!" said the Motherkin. "I had some nice chocolate ready for your breakfast, but I will have to go make some gruel. Poor child! poor child!" And away she went, leaving Laura with her head still buried in her pillow. In a short time she returned, bearing a large cup of gruel and a slice of bread, which she placed beside Laura. Then she bathed the child's face and brushed her hair, Laura submitting in silence. When she had rearranged the bed and made it comfortable, she kissed her and left her.
After a while Laura tasted the gruel, making faces over it; but she emptied the cup. In the same way the bread disappeared; and then, getting very tired of lying in bed, she rose and went to the window.
What a day it was! so sunny and bright! And how merrily ran the brook, and how she longed to see its drops sparkle between her fingers as they had done the day before! How velvety and soft was the grass, how yellow the buttercups! and she was sure she saw a humming-bird dipping down into the flowers in the Motherkin's garden.
"IT WAS ONE OF THE MOTHERKIN'S PIGS."
A new idea came to her. Why not dress and get out of the window, underneath which was a shed, and so drop down into the garden? The clothes were slipped on hurriedly; her little fingers were so eager that the buttons went in and out of their holes again. Then softly on tiptoe she scrambled out. Her skirts caught, her fingers were scratched, the skin was peeled from a spot on one little knee; but, ah! how delicious this liberty! Her feet no sooner touched the earth than she ran swiftly to the brook, and the shoes and stockings were left to themselves while she waded in the clear, cool water. It was such an unknown delight, such happiness, that Laura forgot she was Laura and might have been any little wood-bird. Out of the brook and on to the grass, off the grass and into the woods. Flowers were here, and she gathered her hands and apron full; berries, too—sweet, red, wild strawberries, with a perfume so rare, so aromatic. She stained her fingers and stained her lips. Hark! what was that? A rabbit, and down went flowers and berries for a hunt over the stones and briers. Heeding nothing, she went after Bunny, who suddenly popped into his burrow with a whisk of his little tail and a kick of his little legs for good-bye. Then a loud chattering made her aware of Mr. Squirrel's presence, and she watched him jumping from bough to bough. Wondering if he would come to her if she kept very still, she sat so motionless that by-and-by her little head began to nod, and, wearied with her unusual exercise, she fell fast asleep leaning against a tree.
When she awoke she was still in the same posture; but her knee smarted, her legs were stiff, and she was very hungry. Besides, she knew not which way to turn. She was lost—or thought herself so, which was nearly as bad.
After all, it would be nice to see the Motherkin's kind face and hear her pleasant voice. But how should she explain her naughtiness, her make-believe sickness; and how, above all, should she find her way back? A few tears of repentance and real sorrow rained down awhile, and then Laura, who was no coward, made up her mind that she would tell the Motherkin the truth, and that she was sorry and would try to do better.