little voice said incessantly:

"Sing, Annie--sing."

"Baby Bun, now," said Nan, when Annie had come almost to the end of her
selection.

"Bye baby bunting,
Daddy's gone a hunting--
He's gone to fetch a rabbit-skin,
To place the baby bunting in."

Over and over and over did Annie sing the words. Whenever, even for a
brief moment she paused, Nan said:

"Sing, Annie--sing 'Baby Bun.'"

And all the time the eyes remained wide open, and the little hands were
burning hot; but, gradually, after more than two hours of constant
singing, Annie began to fancy that the burning skin was cooler.
Then--could she believe it?--she saw the lids droop over the wide-open
eyes. Five minutes later, to the tune of "Baby Bunting," Nan had fallen
into a deep and sound sleep.

CHAPTER XXV.

A SPOILED BABY.

In the morning Nan was better, and although for days she was in a very
precarious state, and had to be kept as quiet as possible, yet Miss
Danesbury's great dread that fever would set in had passed away. The
doctor said, however, that Nan had barely escaped real injury to her
brain, and that it would be many a day before she would romp again, and
play freely and noisily with the other children. Nan had chosen her own
nurse, and, with the imperiousness of all babies--to say nothing of sick
babies--she had her way. From morning till night Annie remained with her,
and when the doctor saw how Annie alone could soothe and satisfy the
child he would not allow it to be otherwise. At first Nan would lie with
her hand in Annie's, and her little cry of "sing, Annie," going on from
time to time; but as she grew better Annie would sit with her by the open
window, with her head pillowed on her breast, and her arm round the
little slender form, and Nan would smile and look adoringly at Annie, who
would often return her gaze with intense sadness, and an indescribable
something in her face which caused the little one to stroke her cheek
tenderly, and say in her sweet baby voice:

"Poor Annie; poor tibby Annie!"

They made a pretty picture as they sat there. Annie, with her charming
gypsy face, her wild luxuriant, curly hair, all the sauciness and unrest
in her soothed by the magic of the little child's presence; and the
little child herself, with her faint, wild-rose color, her dark, deep
eyes, clear as summer pools, and her sunshiny golden hair. But pretty a