"This must be a present for thee, my child; something very precious it seems too."
"Oh, not now; put it away, Aunt Lizzie; Violet's head aches so."
"What! thou wilt not even look at it?" cried her aunt, whose own curiosity was now somewhat raised, and she carried the package over to the side of the bed; but Violet only pressed her head down into the pillows and waved the gift away with her hand.
"Aunt Lizzie, Aunt Lizzie, my head it aches so. Come and sit beside Violet; for her father, her good, dear father, is gone away, so far away; and what can she do—what can she do—what can she do?" There were sobs, but as yet no tears.
"Thou canst pray to the good God to keep him safe and well," said her aunt softly, as she laid the packet on the table; "that will do thee good."
But while she stooped down and comforted the child with kisses and loving words, there was a knock at the door, and she cried softly,—
"Oh, who comes now? the child is tired and must sleep."
But it was the doctor who opened the door and walked in. He had promised John, the night before, to look after little Violet in the first access of her trouble; and as he walked towards the bed, she gave him a little smile of welcome.
He sat down beside her, drawing his chair quite close up, and took the little girl's hand in his, looking earnestly at her for a few minutes without speaking.
Violet blushed one of those painful blushes so common to her now, which flooded all the poor pale face with vivid carmine.