"I'm not crying because I got hit," shouted Dreamer, springing up, his face all burning. "I'm crying to think that boys calling themselves gentlemen should have behaved in such a way to those poor children."
"Cads have no right in the garden."
"Then the sooner you get out the better," retorted the little champion, for which observation the enemy was upon him again.
Poor Bill and his sisters felt very sorrowful at the trouble they had brought their dear little friend into.
"Oh, mother!" they cried; "to think it was all for us!"
"Depend upon it, my darlings," said the wise mother, "that is his greatest comfort. He is all the happier for it now."
Something was very wrong indeed with little Bab next morning. When her mother bent over her to give her the parting kiss, she opened her eyes, stared wildly upward, and uttered a scream of terror.
"Go away! go away! You hit the little boy!"
Poor little Bab was very ill. Fever had broken out in the close court. Her mother sent Bill for the dispensary doctor, and Nellie to tell her employers that she could not work for them that day. When the doctor came, he confirmed her fears. Bab had the fever. Oh, the agony of the next few days! The once merry voice rang out full of trouble. Constantly one weary cry came from the dark, cracked lips:
"Why won't you let Bab in to gaver f'owers? Why are the great gates always shut? My daisies! my daisies!"