helped her; it was still early in the evening,
and she knew there were before her long hours to be spent by her
mother's side.

"Do you like me to be with you, mother?" she asked, when a timid
question had at length elicited assurance of this joy. "Does it make
you feel better?"

"Yes, yes. But it's my throat, and you can't make that better; I only
wish you could. But you are a comfort to me, for all that; I don't know
what I should do without you. Oh, I sha'n't be able to speak a word
soon, I sha'n't!"

"Don't, don't talk, dear. I'll talk instead, and you listen. Don't you
think, mother dear, I could--could always sleep with you? I wouldn't
disturb you; indeed, indeed I wouldn't! You don't know how quiet I lie.
If I'm wakeful ever I seem to have such a lot to think about, and I lie
so still and quiet, you can't think. I never wake Mrs. Led ward,
indeed. Do let me, mother; just try me!"

Lotty broke out into passionate weeping, wrung her hands, and hid her
face in the pillow. Ida was terrified, and exerted every effort to
console this strange grief. The outburst only endured a minute or two,
however; then a mood of vexed impatience grew out of the anguish and
despair, and Lotty pushed away the child fretfully.

"I've often told you, you can't, you mustn't bother me. There, there;
you don't mean any harm, but you put me out, bothering me, Ida. Tell
me, what do you think about when you lay awake? Don't you think you'd
give anything to get off to sleep again? I know I do; I can't bear to
think; it makes my head ache so."

"Oh, I like it. Sometimes I think over what I've been reading, in the
animal book, and the geography-book; and--and then I begin my
wishing-thoughts. And oh, I've such lots of wishing-thoughts, you
couldn't believe!"

"And what are the wishing-thoughts about?" inquired the mother, in a
matter-of-fact way.

"I often wish I was grown up. I feel tired of being a child; I want to
be a woman. Then I should know so much more, and I should be able to
understand all the things you tell me I can't now. I don't care for
playing at games and going to school."

"You'll be a woman soon enough, Ida," said Lotty, with a quiet sadness
unusual in her. "But go on; what else?"

"And then I often wish I was a boy. It must be so much nicer to be a
boy. They're stronger than girls, and they know more. Don't you wish I
was a boy, mother?"

"Yes, I do, I often do!" exclaimed Lotty. "Boys aren't such a trouble,
an