Grandpa Harrington came in, and began to poke the fire.
"Well, well," said he; "its hard for one to be taken and the other left, so it is. But Jesus blessed little children; and I wouldn't cry, my dear."
That was the last time I ever played with Fel. She grew feverish that night, and the doctor said she must not see any one. Something was the matter with her head, and she did not know people. I heard she had "water on the brain," and wondered if they put it on to make it feel cool.
There, children, I do not like to talk about it. It was all over in three short weeks, and then the angels called for Fel. She was "taken" and I was "left," and it seemed "very hard." I grieved for a long while, and wanted to go too; but Madam Allen said,—
"You are all the little girl I have now to take in my arms. Don't you want to stay in this world to make Fel's mother happy?"
"Yes," said I; "I do."
And my own mamma said,—
"The baby needs you, too. See, she has learned to hold her hands to you!"
They all tried to comfort me, and by and by I felt happy again. I am told that the loss of my dear little friend made me a different child. I grew more kind and gentle in my ways, more thoughtful of other people. Not very good, by any means, but trying harder to be good.
Well, I believe this is all I have to tell you of my little days, for very soon I began to be a large girl.