hing to do, no care and
tenderness to bestow--and the thought brought burning tears to poor
Magdalen's eyes, though she bravely drove them back, and did her best to
comfort Maudie and her mother.

"Cousin Magdalen," said Maudie, when they had sat for a few minutes by
Hoodie's bed, "Cousin Magdalen, can't we do _anything_ to make her
better? Oh, dear, dear little Hoodie, oh, how I wish I had never been
the least bit not kind to her."

Then raising herself in her cousin's arms, she knelt on her lap, and
leaning her head on Magdalen's shoulder, she said, while her voice was
broken with sobs--

"Oh, dear God, _please_ make Hoodie better. We do so love her--and she
doesn't know how we love her, because I've been unkind to her sometimes.
Oh, dear God, _please_ make her better."

And then, her voice changing a little, as if she were afraid that her
simple entreaty was hardly solemn enough to be considered "prayer," she
added, like Hoodie, "For Jesus Christ's sake. Amen."

A slight movement just then made itself heard in Hoodie's cot; a
flutter more than anything else. Magdalen, gently putting Maudie on her
chair, started up in alarm. She knew that any change in Hoodie was now
most critical. She bent over the child, the better to observe her. A
faint smile came fluttering to Hoodie's face, and in another moment,
with a little effort, she opened her eyes. But she did not seem to see,
or if she saw, she did not recognize, Magdalen, for the word that she
whispered was "Maudie."

Low as it was Maudie heard it.

"She's speaking to me," she exclaimed. "Yes, Hoodie dear, what is it?"

Magdalen lifted her on to the bed. She could not refuse, though afraid
that perhaps she was not doing right. The two little sisters lay close
together.

"Maudie," whispered Hoodie again, in a little, weak, faint voice.
"Maudie, I was waking, and I heard you speaking so nice. I heard you say
'Please God make Hoodie better, 'cos we _do_ so love her.' I didn't know
that, Maudie, I've been so naughty. But if you want me to get better
I'll try. God's been very kind except that He let birdie die. But I love
you better than birdie, Maudie, and perhaps God'll make me better too."

She could not say any more, but she smiled again as Maudie, put her
arms round her and covered her face with loving kisses. Then Martin,
whom Magdalen had summoned, gave her the wine the doctor had ordered in
case of her awaking; Hoodie took it meekly, and then turning her