uite real.

"SILLY little girl!" said Roberta to Bobbie, and felt better.

"The poor leg," she told herself; "it ought to have a cushion--ah!"

She remembered the day when she and Phyllis had torn up their red
flannel petticoats to make danger signals to stop the train and prevent
an accident. Her flannel petticoat to-day was white, but it would be
quite as soft as a red one. She took it off.

"Oh, what useful things flannel petticoats are!" she said; "the man who
invented them ought to have a statue directed to him." And she said
it aloud, because it seemed that any voice, even her own, would be a
comfort in that darkness.

"WHAT ought to be directed? Who to?" asked the boy, suddenly and very
feebly.

"Oh," said Bobbie, "now you're better! Hold your teeth and don't let it
hurt too much. Now!"

She had folded the petticoat, and lifting his leg laid it on the cushion
of folded flannel.

"Don't faint again, PLEASE don't," said Bobbie, as he groaned. She
hastily wetted her handkerchief with milk and spread it over the poor
leg.

"Oh, that hurts," cried the boy, shrinking. "Oh--no, it doesn't--it's
nice, really."

"What's your name?" said Bobbie.

"Jim."

"Mine's Bobbie."

"But you're a girl, aren't you?"

"Yes, my long name's Roberta."

"I say--Bobbie."

"Yes?"

"Wasn't there some more of you just now?"

"Yes, Peter and Phil--that's my brother and sister. They've gone to get
someone to carry you out."

"What rum names. All boys'."

"Yes--I wish I was a boy, don't you?"

"I think you're all right as you are."

"I didn't mean that--I meant don't you wish YOU were a boy, but of
course you are without wishing."

"You're just as brave as a boy. Why didn't you go with the others?"

"Somebody had to stay with you," said Bobbie.

"Tell you what, Bobbie," said Jim, "you're a brick. Shake." He reached
out a red-jerseyed arm and Bobbie squeezed his hand.

"I won't shake it," she explained, "because it would shake YOU, and that
would shake your poor leg, and that would hurt. Have you got a hanky?"

"I don't expect I have." He felt in his pocket. "Yes, I have. What for?"

She took it and wetted it with milk and put it on his forehead.

"That's jolly," he said; "what is it?"

"Milk," said Bobbie. "We haven't any water--"

"You're a jolly good little nurse," said Jim.

"I do it for Mother sometimes," said Bobbie--"not milk, of course,
but scent, or vinegar and water. I say, I must put the candl