.

"Aren't you going up-stairs and see if you think sister is sick?"
Evelyn asked, as Aunt Maria was tying her bonnet-strings.

"No, I ain't," replied Aunt Maria. "It's all I can do to walk to
church. I ain't goin' to climb the stairs for nothin'. I ain't
worried a mite about her."

After Aunt Maria was gone Evelyn made a slice of toast, placed it on
a pretty plate, and made also some tea, which she poured into a very
dainty cup. Then she carried the toast and tea on a little tray up to
Maria's room.

"Please sit up and drink this tea and eat this toast, sister," she
said, pleadingly.

"Thank you, dear," said Maria, "but I don't feel as if I could eat
anything."

"It's real nice," said Evelyn, looking with a childish wistfulness
from her sister to the toast. Maria could not withstand the look. She
raised herself in bed and let Evelyn place the tray on her knees.
Then she forced herself to drink the tea and eat the toast. Evelyn
all the time watched her with that sweet wistfulness of expression
which was one of her chief charms. Evelyn, when she looked that way,
was irresistible. There was so much anxious love in her tender face
that it made it fairly angelic. Evelyn's dark hair was tumbling about
her face like a child's, in a way which she often wore it when at
home when there was no company. It was tied with a white ribbon bow.
She wore a black skirt and a little red breakfast-jacket faced with
white. As her sister gradually despatched the tea and toast, the look
of wistfulness on her face changed to one of radiant delight. She
clapped her hands.

"There," she said, "I knew you would eat your breakfast if I brought
it to you. Wasn't that toast nice?"

"Delicious."

"I made it my own self. Aunt Maria was cross. Don't you think it is
odd that any one who loves anybody should ever be cross?"

"It often happens," said Maria, laying back on her pillows.

"Of course, Aunt Maria loves us both, but she loves you especially;
but she is often cross with you. I don't understand it."

"She doesn't love me any better than she does you, dear," said Maria.

"Oh yes, she does; but I am not jealous. I am very glad I am not, for
I could be terribly jealous."

"Nonsense, precious!"

"Yes, I could. Sometimes I imagine how jealous I could be, and it
frightens me."

"You must not imagine such things, dear."

"I have always imagined things," said Evelyn. Her face took on a very
serious, almost weird and tragic express