"I wonder you aren't ashamed to be such a plague at your age," but all the while, he noticed with a heavy heart that every time he lifted his "baby," he found the load a lighter one.
At the beginning of spring there came a more noticeable change. Then even Millie, who was always making herself believe that Phil would be well and strong again some day, perceived only too plainly that he daily became weaker, and his appetite less. She was glad when the drawing which he intended to give Miss Crawford was at length finished, for even the exertion of holding a pencil fatigued him.
"You won't begin anything else, will you, dear?" she said when, having pronounced his sketch completed, he called his sister to admire it.
"No, Millie, but I wanted to give Miss Crawford something that would make her remember me. She'll hang this up in her room, I know, and she'll think of me whenever she looks at it." Then after a pause, he said in a voice that was full of longing, "I should so like to see her again, Millie, before I die."
"You will not leave us yet, darling, I hope," replied Millie, bravely keeping back her tears, "but if you wish, I'll write and tell her what you say."
"Do you think she would come?"
"I am sure she will. I'll send her a letter at once."
"There's no great hurry, you know," said Phil, "but somehow I feel that I shall never be any better. I shall gradually get worse and worse. Don't cry, dear—" for Millie could no longer control her tears. "I am very happy. I am not afraid to die. I would rather it should be so. Remember, if I lived, I should be a helpless, suffering invalid, a burden upon you all. It's far better as it is."
He stroked her hair lovingly, calling her by the many pet names he had for her, and he would not let her go till she had smiled again.
Millie's letter went that night, and by a singular coincidence she received one from Miss Crawford the very next morning. It contained wonderful news. Millie could hardly believe her eyes as she read it.