ade no answer, but closed her eyes again drowsily.

"I'll set the milk down here," Celia went on, "and maybe you will feel
like drinking some more of it after a little while."

She set the cup on a chair by Edna's bedside and stole softly out of the
room, leaving her sister to fall into another doze from which she was
awakened by hearing a timid voice say: "Excuse me. I hope you are not
asleep, but I want to say good-bye," and turning over, Edna saw her
little Cousin Lulie.

"Oh, are you going?" came from the little girl in bed.

"Yes, we are all ready. I am so sorry you are sick. I like you so much
and I wish you would come to our house some day."

Edna was too polite not to make some effort of appreciation, so she sat
up and held out her little hot hand. "Oh, thank you," she answered; "I
should love to come, and I wish you could come to see us. Ask Uncle Bert
to bring you real soon."

"Mother said I had better not kiss you," remarked Lulie honestly, "for I
might take your cold, but I have folded up a kiss in this piece of paper
and I will put it here so you can get it when I am gone."

Edna smiled at this and liked Lulie all the better for the fancy. "I
won't forget it," she said earnestly. "I will send you one when I get
well, but you'd better not take a feverish one with you. Good-bye, and
say good-bye to all the others."

"They would have come, too," Lulie informed her, "but mother thought one
of us was enough when you had a headache, and that I could bring all the
good-byes for the others. Now I must go. Get well soon." And she was off
leaving Edna with a consciousness of it's being a wise decree which
prevented more visitors, for her headache was so much the worse for
having had but one.

She lay very still wishing the noises below would cease, the running
back and forth, the shutting of doors, the calling of the boys to one
another and the crying of the baby. But last of all she heard the
carriage wheels on the gravel, and then it was suddenly silent. The boys
had all gone off to play, and the only sounds were occasional footsteps
on the stair, the stirring of the kitchen fire, and outside, the distant
"Caw! Caw!" of the crows in the trees. For a long time she was very
quiet. Once her mother came to the door and peeped in, but, seeing no
movement, believed the child asleep, but later she came in and Edna
opened her eyes to see her standing by her bedside.

"Poor little lass," said her mother, "you're