he was kneeling in a corner of the room, and
the words Lucy overheard were these--

"Maudie is worser," Hoodie was saying, "Maudie is worser, and if she
keeps getting worser she'll die. And it wasn't Maudie's fault that she
got the affection fever. It was Hoodie's fault. Oh, please, dear God,
make Maudie better, and Hoodie won't mind if _she_ gets the fever, 'cos
it was her fault. Hoodie's been so naughty, and poor Maudie's good. And
everybody loves Maudie, but nobody _can_ love Hoodie. So please, dear
God, make Maudie better," and then she ended in her usual fashion--"For
Jesus Christ's sake. Amen."

Lucy stood holding her breath at the door. When she saw that Hoodie got
up from kneeling and sat quietly down on her chair again, she ventured
to enter the room. Hoodie looked at her rather suspiciously.

"Lucy," she said, with a touch of her old imperiousness, "I think you
should 'amember to knock at the door."

"Very well, Miss Hoodie," said Lucy meekly, for somehow she could not
have helped agreeing with whatever Hoodie chose to say, "I'll not forget
again."

Hoodie sat quite quiet, still leaning her head on her hands, doing
nothing and seeming to wish for nothing.

"Are you not well to-day, Miss Hoodie?" Lucy asked at last.

"Yes," said Hoodie, "I'm kite well, and I think Maudie'll be better
to-morrow."

But all day long she continued very, very quiet, and once or twice Lucy
wondered if she should let Hoodie's mother or Martin know how strange
the child seemed.

"I'll wait till to-morrow, any way," she decided. "It seems a shame to
trouble them more to-day, for this has been much the worst day with Miss
Maudie, I fancy. It's to be hoped it's the turn."

And when to-morrow morning came she was glad she had not troubled them,
for Hoodie seemed better and brighter than for some days past. She did
not seem impatient for the news of Maudie, not as impatient as Lucy
herself, who ran along to tap at Martin's door as soon as she awoke, and
came back with a relieved face to tell Hoodie that the news was much
better this morning, Maudie seemed really to have got the turn.

"I knew she'd be better to-day," said Hoodie, composedly. "Didn't I tell
you so, Lucy?"

And when they went out into the garden she carefully gathered a nosegay
for Maudie, choosing the prettiest flowers and tying them together with
a piece of ribbon she took off one of her dolls.

"Take those to Maudie's room, Lucy," she said, "and tap at the