t at this distance
from town. She will be very comfortable there. Indeed, it seems to me
to be her only chance of a speedy recovery."

"But it seems unkind to send her out of the house, now that she is ill.
I can't bear to do it," said Mrs Seaton.

"Not at all, my dear madam. It is done every day; and very well it is
that there is a place where such people can be received when they are
ill."

"But Christie is very unlike a common servant. She is such a gentle,
faithful little thing; the children are so fond of her too."

"No one knows her good qualities better than I do, after what I saw of
her last winter. But really it is the very best thing that could happen
to her in the circumstances. Shall I tell her? Perhaps it would be as
well."

Christie was greatly startled when they told her she must go to the
hospital. Her first thought was that she could not go--that she must
get home to Effie and the rest before she should grow worse. But a few
words from the doctor put an end to any such plan. A little care and
attention now would make her quite well again; whereas if she were to go
home out of the reach of surgical skill, she might have a long and
tedious season of suffering--if, indeed, she ever fully recovered. She
must never think of going home now. She must not even think of waiting
till she heard from her sister. That could do no possible good, and
every day's delay would only make matters worse.

He spoke very kindly to her.

"You must not let the idea of the hospital frighten you, as though one
ought to be very ill indeed before they go there. It is a very
comfortable place, I can tell you. I only wish I could get some of my
other patients there. They would stand a far better chance of recovery
than they can do with the self-indulgence and indifferent nursing that
is permitted at home. You will be very well there; and if you have to
look forward to some suffering, I am quite sure you have patience and
courage to bear it well."

Courage and patience! Poor little Christie! The words seemed to mock
her as she went about the preparations for her departure. Her heart lay
as heavy as lead in her bosom. She seemed like one stunned by a heavy
blow. It destroyed the pain of parting with the little boys, however.
She left them quietly, without a tear, even though poor little Claude
clung to her, weeping and struggling to the very last. But her face was
very pale, and her hands trembled as sh