ll asleep that night, and in the
morning she had a headache.

When she got up she had to sit on the bed, she felt so dizzy.

Miss Rose found her sitting there.

"Why, Clematis," she said. "Are you sick?"

"Yes'm, I guess so," whispered the poor little girl.

"Lie right down again, dear, and perhaps you will feel better."

They brought her a cup of cocoa, and some toast, for breakfast, but
she could not eat.

All day she lay there, pale and sick.

In the afternoon old Doctor Field came in to see her. He sat down by
the bed and asked her some questions.

He looked at her tongue, and felt her pulse. Then he took out some
little pills and gave them to Miss Rose.

"I guess you had better put her in a single room," he said. "Give
her some of these in water, every two hours during the day."

He smiled at Clematis before he went out. "I guess she will feel
better in the morning, when I come again."

But in the morning Clematis was not better. She was worse.

"How did she pass the night?" asked Doctor Field, as he felt her
pulse.

"Not very well," said Miss Rose. "She did not sleep much, and had a
good deal of pain."

Doctor Field looked at her chest and arms.

"It might be chicken pox, or measles," he said, "but I don't see any
of the usual signs."

Little Clematis lay and looked at him steadily.

"Did you want something, dear?" he asked.

"I want a drink," she said. "I want a drink of cold, cold water."

"Yes, dear, you shall have a drink, of course you shall."

The old doctor went into the hall with Miss Rose.

"She may have a drink, but only a little at a time. And I wouldn't
let it be too cold. She really gets enough water with her
medicine."

Soon they brought Clematis a little water in a cup. She raised her
head and drank it, but then made a face and turned her head away.

"It isn't any good," she said.

That evening old Doctor Field came again. He looked carefully at
Clematis, and shook his head.

"I guess it's only a slow fever. It's nothing catching," he said.
"She'll be better in a few days."

The few days passed, but Clematis was not better.

At night she was restless, and slept little. Even when she did
sleep, her slumber was disturbed by bad dreams.

She talked to herself during these dreams, though people couldn't
understand what she said.

Doctor Field came to see her every day or two, but he could not tell
what her sickness was. He always said:

"Just give her the medici