you see the doctors think papa is more likely to get better if he has
not you to take care of!'

'I did not want my father to take care of _me_,' said the little lady,
proudly; 'I take care of father, I always make his tea and warm his
slippers, and bring him his coffee in the morning. And Uncle Kit never
_will_ put his gloves for him and warm his handkerchief! Oh! what will
he do? I can't bear it.'

The violent grief so long kept back was coming now, but not freely; the
little girl threw herself on the floor, and in a tumult of despair and
passion went on, hurrying out her words, 'It's very hard! It's all Uncle
Kit's doing! I hate him! Yes, I do.' And she rolled over and over in
her frenzy of feeling.

'My dear! my dear!' cried Honora, kneeling by her, 'this will never do!
Papa would be very much grieved to see his little girl so naughty. Don't
you know how your uncle only wants to do him good, and to make him get
well?'

'Then why didn't he take me?' said Lucilla, gathering herself up, and
speaking sullenly.

'Perhaps he thought you gave papa trouble, and tired him.'

'Yes, that's it, and it's not fair,' cried the poor child again; 'why
couldn't he tell me? I didn't know papa was ill! he never told me so,
nor Mr. Pendy either; or, how I would have nursed him! I wanted to do so
much for him; I wouldn't have asked him to tell me stories, nor nothing!
No! And now they won't let me take care of him;' and she cried bitterly.

'Yes,' said good, gentle Miss Wells, thinking more of present comfort
than of the too possible future; 'but you will go back to take care of
him some day, my dear. When the spring comes papa will come back to his
little girl.'

Spring! It was a long way off to a mind of six years old, but it made
Lucilla look more amiably at Miss Wells.

'And suppose,' proceeded that good lady, 'you were to learn to be as good
and helpful a little girl as can be while he is gone, and then nobody
will wish to keep you from him. How surprised he would be!'

'And then shall we go home?' said Lucilla.

Miss Wells uttered a somewhat rash assurance to that effect, and the
child came near her, pacified and satisfied by the scheme of delightful
goodness and progress to be made in order to please her father--as she
always called him. Honor looked on, thankful for the management that was
subduing and consoling the poor little maid, and yet unable to
participate in it, for though the kind old lady spo