the door opened, and the girl came in. "I can't think what's
the matter with Duncan," Elsie cried, in an agonised voice. "He's been
going on dreadfully. I think he keeps on having nightmares. He says
there are lions and tigers, and men with knives, and now he's jumped out
of bed and hurt himself. Oh! whatever shall I do with him?"

The girl struck a match and bent over the child; then she went and
fetched a scrap of candle from her own garret. She lifted him up
carefully, and put him back on the bed, then took water, and poured it
on his face. Elsie stood by quite helpless, watching her. After a long
time he began to make a little moaning noise, but his eyes did not open,
and he lay perfectly still.

"Has he hurt himself much?" Elsie asked.

"I don't know, but I think it's more the fever than the hurt," the girl
replied. "Poor little lad! he ought to be with his mother. He wants a
lot o' care and nursing."

"Is he very ill?" Elsie asked.

"I should just say he was. I had the fever when I was a bit bigger than
you, and my head wandered. They said I chattered and screamed, and had
to be held down in the bed. I should have died for certain if I hadn't
been taken to the hospital, for I was awful bad; and so's he. Can't you
see he is?"

Elsie began to cry and to tremble. "They must take him to the hospital,"
she cried. "They shall! I'll make them! If only Duncan was back home
now, I wouldn't mind anything."

"You was a stupid to run away if you'd got a good home," the girl said.
"Catch Meg running away from any one who was good to her! They think her
an idiot, but she's not quite so stupid as _that_."

Elsie was beginning to think very much the same thing. Her trouble had
completely driven from her mind the high hopes of future grandeur with
which she had started. They scarcely even came into her head, and when
they did for a moment pass through her brain, everything seemed so
altered, that there was little comfort or attraction in the thought.

If she had known, she told herself again and again, she never would have
done it. To-night she could not help admitting to herself that she would
give anything to be back in her old home, with Duncan hearty and well,
and all the old grievances about Robbie, and the fetching and carrying,
and what not, into the bargain. How trifling and insignificant they
seemed in comparison with her present troubles!

Suppose he should die for want of attention and comfort! That dreadful