st stage of my illness was passed, poor mamma, completely
worn out, would often leave me to the care of Mammy or Jane; with
numerous directions to see that I took whatever had been left for me by
Doctor Irwin. I always liked to have Jane with me, for I _loved_ her;
and the medicine never seemed to taste so bad when she gave it to me.
She had various ways of smoothing this disagreeable duty; and one night
when I had been rather obstreperous, she cut a pill in two and took
half, by way of keeping me company; saying as she swallowed it that
"perhaps it might do her some good." When I became well enough to leave
my bed I sat in a nice easy-chair drawn close up to the window, from
whence I could see the early flowers that were now blooming in full
beauty in the garden below, while some amusing book rested on my lap. I
remember that they brought me the very first strawberries that ripened;
and the neighbors were so kind that many a well-relished delicacy was
sent in "for Mrs. Chesbury's sick child."

I was just able to run about, but still looking very pale and thin, when
Aunt Henshaw arrived on a visit. "What!" exclaimed she, "can this be the
madcap, Amy? Why, you look like a ghost, child! What in the world have
you been doing to yourself--studying too hard?"

The old lady possessed no great powers of penetration, and not being
sufficiently discerning to distinguish between the love of reading and
the love of study, she concluded, from seeing me often with a book in my
hand, that I was quite a studious character. Aunt Henshaw remained a
week or two; and though not exactly sick, I remained thin and drooping,
and seemed to get no stronger as the season advanced. The state of my
health was canvassed over and over again in the family circle; and one
day, when they were all gazing upon me with anxious solicitude, and
remarking upon my pale cheeks, Aunt Henshaw observed: "She needs a
change of air, poor child! She must go home with me."

CHAPTER X.

I was quite surprised at the effect which this remark produced. Although
an only daughter, I had never been much caressed at home--I was always
so troublesome that they loved me best at a distance. If I happened to
get into the library with my father, I was sure to upset the inkstand,
or shake the table where he sat writing--or if admitted to my mother's
apartment, I made sad havoc with her work-basket, and was very apt to
clip up cut out articles with my little scissors--whic