the
supply had to be renewed. When she was in the middle of her second
round of buttered toast (for Willie had toasted the bread), she stopped
suddenly.

"Why don't you go on?" asked Willie.

"Because you have not eaten or drunk one mouthful yet."

"But I'm lookin' at you, and ain't that better? Howsever, if ye won't
go on, I'll not keep you back," and with that Willie set to work, and,
being uncommonly hungry, did what he styled "terrible execution among
the wittles."

For some time the nurse and patient ate in comparative silence, but by
degrees they began to talk, and as they became more confidential their
talk became more personal.

"D'you like bein' a fairy?" said Willie, after a lull in the
conversation.

"No, I don't," replied Ziza.

"Why not?"

"Because--because--I don't like the kind of things we have to do, and--
and--in short, I don't like it at all, and I often pray God to deliver
me from it."

"That's strange, now," said Willie, "I would have thought it great fun
to be a fairy. I'd rather be a little clown or a he-fairy myself, now,
than anything else I know of, except a fireman."

"A fireman, Willie?"

"Yes, a fireman. My brother, Blaz--a--Frank, I mean, is one, and he
saved the lives of some people not long since."

Of course Willie here diverged into a graphic account of the fire in
Beverly Square, and, seeing that Ziza listened with intense earnestness,
he dilated upon every point, and went with special minuteness into the
doings of Frank.

When he concluded, Ziza heaved a very deep sigh and closed her eyes.

"I've tired you, Ziza," exclaimed Willie, jumping up, with a look of
anxiety, and removing the tea-board and jacket, as the child slipped
down under the clothes. He asked if she wanted to go to sleep.

"Yes, for I'm _very_ tired," she sighed languidly; then added, "but
please read to me a little first."

"What book am I to read you?" said Willie, looking round the room, where
no book of any kind was to be seen.

"Here, it's under the pillow."

Willie put his hand under the pillow and pulled out a small
pocket-Bible.

"Read the third chapter of Saint John's Gospel," said the child, closing
her eyes.

Willie read in the monotonous tones of a schoolboy's voice until he came
to the sixteenth verse, "For God so loved the world, that He gave His
only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish,
but have everlasting life."

"Stop at _that_ verse," w