dy,
or to give a word of advice or sympathy when it was likely to be well
received. All the household had retired to rest but herself; she had
seen her dear children, as she often called Clara and Mabel, fast asleep
in their separate little white beds, but she still felt anxiety on
Mabel's account.

'Poor, foolish girl,' said the kind aunt to herself, 'I wonder whether I
shall ever be able to convince her of her folly. I cannot change her
heart, but I will pray that it may be changed; and I will do everything
in my power, both by example and precept, to show her that "Wisdom's
ways are ways of pleasantness, and her paths peace."' As Miss Livesay
said this, she once more went to look at the sleepers in the adjoining
room. Clara lay pale, peaceful, and soundly asleep; but Mabel, though
also asleep, looked flushed, and appeared restless.

This, Aunt Mary thought, might arise from the hurry and agitation of
running home so quickly; she did not wish to meet evils half-way, yet,
on retiring from the room, she made up her mind to take another look at
the sleeping girl during the night. This she accordingly did, but
observing no fresh symptoms for alarm, she lay down again, and only
waked when Clara came to tell her that Mabel complained of great pains
in her limbs. This sad news completely awed the kind aunt, for she
dreaded an attack of rheumatic fever, as Mabel's mamma had been a
dreadful sufferer two years before from that very serious malady. As
soon as possible, the doctor was sent for. Aunt Mary was no alarmist,
and could herself have dealt with any ordinary complaint; but she wished
to have the doctor's opinion, and, if possible, his decision, on the
real nature of the illness from which her niece was suffering, in order
that she might act with befitting caution, if there were any likelihood
of infection.

Clara sat disconsolate by the side of the pretty white bed, where her
poor cousin lay with feverish head and aching limbs. The stricken girl
was very quiet, except when she made an attempt to move, and then the
pain caused her to utter a faint cry, which thrilled through Clara's
kind heart; for she had never before been called upon to watch by a
sick-bed.

'Oh, dear Mabel, I am so sorry for you,' said the affectionate
child-nurse; 'I wish I could do anything to give you relief from your
pains.'

'Thank you, dear Clara,' said the poor girl, in a quiet, subdued tone,
very unlike that of the preceding day; even in