y, bright morning, when you have had
such a good night's rest?"

"I had a horrid night. I couldn't sleep a bit. I feel so mum-mum-
miserable!" wailed the patient dolefully. "I'm so tired of being in
bed."

"You won't have very much longer of it now. Your temperature is lower
than it has ever been this morning. You ought to be in good spirits
instead of crying in this silly way. Come now, cheer up! I am not
going to allow such a doleful face."

"I'm very cheerful when I'm well. Ask Aunt Margaret if I'm not. I've a
most lively disposition. Everyone says so," whined Sylvia dismally.
"I'm tired of everything and everybody. So would you be if you'd been
in bed for two months."

"Tired of me as well as the rest?"

"Yes, I am. You are a nasty, horrid, strict, cross thing." But a smile
struggled through the tears, and a thin hand stole out from beneath the
clothes and pressed the white-sleeved arms in eloquent contradiction.
Whatever Sylvia was tired of, it was certainly not this gentle, sweet-
faced little woman who--humanly speaking--had brought her back from the
verge of the grave. She snoodled her head along the pillow so as to
lean it against the nurse's shoulder, and said in weak, disconnected
snatches, "I'm sorry--I'm so horrid. I feel so cross and low-spirited.
I want--a change. Can't you think--of something nice?"

"You are going to have some beautiful chicken-soup for your lunch. It
is in a perfect jelly."

"Hate chicken-soup! Hate the sight of soup! Want to have salmon and
cucumber, and ice creams, and nice rich puddings."

Nurse laughed complacently.

"So you shall--some day! Glad you feel well enough to want them now.
Would you like to be carried to the sofa by the window for an hour this
afternoon, while your bed is being aired and made comfortable? I think
it would do you good to lie in the sunshine, and the doctor could help
me to carry you. It would be quite exciting to see a glimpse of the
outer world, wouldn't it?"

"Rather! I can't believe that everything is going on just the same.
Are all the neighbours alive still? Is the old man at the corner alive?
Has the little girl at Number Five grown-up and put on long frocks? I
feel as if I had been lying here for years and years. I believe I have
grown grey myself. Give me a hand-glass, Whitey, and let me see how I
look."

Whitey walked obediently across the room, and brought back the silver-
backed glass from the dressing