the matter with your mother?" Winifred inquired
sympathetically.

"She had a bad cold yesterday, and this morning she's worse. She keeps
her eyes shut most of the time, and doesn't understand the things I say
to her. I'm afraid she is very ill--oh, I'm afraid she is." And Betty
burst into tears.

Winifred's tender little heart was filled with compassion.

"Don't cry, don't," she whispered, throwing her arms impulsively around
Betty's neck; "maybe she'll be all right soon. I'll tell mother about it
the minute she comes in, and she'll come right up. Do you think Jack
would like to have me stay with him for a while? I might read to him
while you're doing things for your mother."

Betty said she was sure Jack would like it very much, and having dried
her eyes on Winifred's handkerchief, she led the way to her brother's
bedside.

"Jack," said Betty softly, "here's Winifred Hamilton. Her mother's out,
but she's going to tell her about mother just as soon as she comes
home."

Jack looked pleased.

"I'm glad to see you," he said politely, holding out his thin little
hand. "I'm usually up on the sofa by this time, but mother wasn't able
to dress me this morning."

"That's all right," said Winifred, giving the outstretched hand a
hearty squeeze. "When people aren't very strong they often stay in bed
quite late, you know. Your mother's awake now, isn't she, Betty? I hear
her talking."

Betty stole on tiptoe to her mother's door, but returned in a moment.

"She's only talking in her sleep," she said anxiously. "I spoke to her,
but she didn't answer. Did you ever see any one who was very ill,
Winifred?"

"I saw Mr. Bradford have an attack once," said Winifred; "his eyes were
shut, and he looked very white. Mrs. Bradford sent for the doctor. Why
don't you have a doctor come to see your mother?"

"She doesn't want one," said Betty, coloring. "I asked her this morning,
and she said she didn't. Would you mind coming to look at her, Winifred?
Perhaps you can tell what the matter is."

Winifred said she would not mind, and, hand in hand, the two little
girls stole into the dark little bedroom, and stood looking down at the
flushed face on the pillow. Mrs. Randall was tossing restlessly from
side to side, and talking in a low, incoherent way.

"Mother," said Betty in a voice that she tried hard to make steady and
cheerful, "here's Winifred Hamilton. She came up to see us, and she's
going to read to Jack."

Mrs. Randall