promise to be awfully quiet, and not to do her a scrap of harm."

Mrs. Collins hesitated for a moment. Marjorie was not the Miss Wilton
Susy was asking for, and she feared exciting the poor refractory
little girl by not carrying out her wishes exactly. But as Susy's
tired feverish voice was distinctly heard in the upper room, and as
Miss Nelson said, "I think you can fully trust Marjorie; she is a most
tender little nurse," Mrs. Collins yielded.

"You must do as you think best, miss," she said.

Marjorie did not wait for another word. She ran lightly up the narrow
stairs, and entered the room where the sick child was sitting up in
bed.

"Is that you, Miss Ermie?" said Susy. "I thought you were never
coming--never. I thought you had forsook me, just when I am so bad,
and like to die."

"It's me, Susy," said Marjorie, coming forward. "Ermengarde's away, so
I came."

"Oh, I don't want you, Miss Marjorie," said Susan.

She flung herself back on the bed, and taking up the sheet threw it
over her face. Marjorie went up to the bedside.

"There ain't a bit of use in your staying, Miss Marjorie," continued
Susy, in a high-pitched, excited voice. "You don't know nothing 'bout
me and the picture. You ain't no good at all."

Marjorie's heart gave a great bound. The picture! That must surely
mean the broken miniature. "Basil, dear Basil," whispered the little
girl, "you may not have to live down all the horrid, wicked, cruel
suspicion after all."

"I wish you'd go away, Miss Marjorie," said Susy from under the
bedclothes. "I tell you miss, you can't do me one bit of good. You
don't know nothing about me and the picture."

"But I can hold your hand, Susy," said Marjorie; "and if your hand is
hot, mine is lovely and cool. If you're restless, let me hold your
hand. I often do so to baby if he can't sleep, and it quiets him ever
so."

Susy did not respond for a minute or two, but presently her poor
little hot hand was pushed out from under the bedclothes. Marjorie
grasped it firmly. Then she took the other hand, and softly rubbed the
hot, dry fingers. Susy opened her burning eyes, flung aside the sheet,
and looked at her quiet little visitor.

"You comfort me a bit, miss," she said. "I don't feel so mad with
restlessness as I did when you came in."

"That's because I have got soothing hands," said Marjorie. "Some
people have, and I suppose I'm one. The children at home always go to
sleep when I hold their hands. Don't