had been nicely washed and dressed and
were, when their mother went down, sitting on the kitchen doorstep with
a kitten between them, over which, for a wonder, they were neither
fretting nor quarreling. The breakfast things were all put away, the
floor swept, and there was a general look of comfort which had not
existed in that house for more than a week. The poor tired woman sank
into a rocking-chair, saying to herself, "I don't see how it is some
people's children are so handy. Mine don't ever do anything they can
help. It's some people's luck." It never came into Mrs. Sanderson's head
that the "luck" of good, efficient children is largely dependent upon
the sensible training given them by their mothers.

The doctor, when he came, found Bertie much easier, if not absolutely
better. He could not tell quite yet if there were any likelihood of her
recovery, but the quieter she could be kept, and the more sleep she
could get, the more chance she would have. He told Katie she was a
famous nurse, and he should trust her to keep the room still, dark, and
cool, and to soothe her friend as much as she possibly could. He
furthermore told her that he had seen her mother, who approved of her
remaining where she was, though of course she was very anxious lest she
should take the fever and very sorry that she had gone to the house in
the first place.

"I promised to watch you closely," said he, "and the moment I saw any
symptoms, take you to her to be nursed. But I don't believe you will
have it if you take care of yourself. You are in the path of duty, and I
have often observed that those who are there seldom come to any harm."

It seemed a very long day to restless, active Katie, and yet in one
sense it was a relief from the steady, monotonous work in the mill.
Bertie was so quiet at first that she was able to wait upon her and
Alf. both, and let Nina go down to help her mother get dinner. But after
a while she began to toss and mutter, and then came those wild cries for
Katie Robertson; that she had something to tell her; that she hadn't
told a lie, for Katie was a thief.

When or how the change came the watcher hardly knew, but all at once she
became aware that Bertie lay looking directly at her, and that there was
full recognition in her eyes. Neither girl spoke for a moment; then
Bertie said with a kind of shudder:--

"Am I dead?"

"No, indeed," said the other, not without some effort to speak
cheerfully. "You are goin