me down here. I can't bear it!"

"Why, Madge."

"Well, if you should go up to heaven first, Fel, you'd sit there on
those steps, with a harp in your hand, and think about me; how I said
cross things to you."

"Why, what cross things did ever you say to me, Madge Parlin?"

"There, there," cried I, smiling through my tears, and beginning to
dance; "_have_ you forgot? O, that's nice! Why, Fel, I called you a
lie-girl."

"O, well, I don't care if you did. I wasn't, _was_ I?"

"And I called you a borrow-girl, too. And I drowned you, and I--I--"

"I wish you'd stop talking about that," said Fel, "or you'll make me
cry; for you're just the nicest girl. And who cares if you do scold
sometimes? Why, it's just in fun, and I like to hear you."

Now, Dotty Dimple, I declare to you that this conversation is sweeter
to my memory than "a nest of nightingales." Naughty as I was, Fel
didn't know I was naughty!

When I went home next morning, the little Louise was much better, and
in a few days seemed as well as ever. I was very thankful God knew I
was not in earnest, and had not taken me at my word, and called her
back to heaven.

She was never quite as cross from that time, and I had many happy
hours with her, though, as I told Fel,--

"She's cross _enough_ now, and sometimes seems 's if I couldn't
forgive her; but I always do; I don't dass not to!"

I was not required to hold her very much, for Fel was not well, and
wanted me with her half the time. Mother was always willing I should
go, and never said,--

"Don't you think you ought to be pacifying the baby?"

I never dreamed that Fel was really sick. I only knew she grew sweeter
every day, and clung to me more and more. I had stopped teasing her
long ago, and tried to make her happy. I couldn't have said a cross
word to her that winter any more than I could have crushed a white
butterfly.

One day I was going to see her, with some jelly in my little basket,
when "the Polly woman" walked mournfully into the yard.

"I've just come from Squire Allen's," said she, unfastening her
shawl, and sighing three times,--once for every pin.

"And how is Fel?" asked mother.

Polly slowly shook her head,--

"Very low; I--"

Mother looked at her, and then at me; and I looked at her, and then at
Polly.

"Dr. Foster says her brain has always been too active, and--"

"Madge, you'd better run along," said mother. "The baby's asleep now;
but she'll wake up and want you."