“Minnie? Oh, yes, she is a dear little thing. But she has only been at home about a fortnight. It was she who got Aunt North to ask you to come. I love her; she has been more kind to me than any of the rest.”
“I expect my little sister Mildred would have been something like her if she had lived,” said Arthur.
“You cannot think how I used to wish for you, Arthur. While Cousin Amy was here I never thought of asking her to write to you for me; besides, it would not have been very much use, when I could not have asked you to come. Maude used sometimes to come up and sit in my room. But I don’t know how it is, I feel rather afraid of Maude; and she has so much to do, and altogether I did not like her to do it. Then when the holidays began she could not come up. But the day after Minnie came home, she came up and talked; and I did not mind asking her anything.”
“Did you ask her to write to me?” asked Arthur.
“Not exactly. One day she asked me, when we were talking about my not going to live, whether there was any one I would like to see; and I said there was one person, and that was you, you know. Then the next time she came she said, ‘I’ve asked mamma, Edgar, and she says we may, if Maude can manage.’ I could not think what she meant at first. Was she not a dear little thing?”
“Yes; and then,” said Arthur, very much interested.
“Oh, then she coaxed Maude in some way, and I said the letter, and Minnie wrote it.”
Just then the door opened, and some one appeared with a tray, whom Arthur had not yet seen. This was the nurse, who was a kind person, and came to Edgar’s bedside when she could leave her own charge.
“Oh,” she said, “so you have your friend, Mr. Edgar, I see.”
“Yes, nurse,” said Edgar, “isn’t it nice?”