ht baby looked a little better this morning," said she.

I shook my head.

"Has baby grown any worse?"

"No'm."

"Then why do you shake your head?"

"'Cause," sobbed I, "'cause--"

And then, hiding behind her turban, I whispered,--

"O, if you tell God you want anything, is that a prayer?"

"Yes, dear, if you tell him you want little sister to get well, that
is a prayer."

I moaned still more bitterly at these words, and slid out of her lap.

"Why, what is it, darling?"

"I can't tell you," said I; "I can't, I can't. There isn't anybody in
this world I can tell but just Fel."

Then Madam Allen went out of the room, and left us two little girls
alone.

"O, Fel," said I, as soon as my sobs would let me speak, "I said I
wished God would take my little sister back again."

Fel looked very much shocked.

"And O, I'm afraid it was a truly prayer, and God 'll do it."

"No, I guess it wasn't a truly prayer, Madge."

"What makes you think it wasn't?" cried I, eagerly, for I supposed she
must know.

"Wasn't you mad when you said it?"

"Yes, very. She made that long scratch on my nose, and I was very
mad."

"She did dig awful deep; I don't wonder you felt bad," said Fel,
soothingly. "But you didn't want her to die, any more'n anything; now
did you?"

"No, O, no!"

"Well, then, if you didn't want her to die, God knows you didn't; for
he knows everything, don't he?"

"Yes, yes."

"And so it wasn't a truly prayer," added Fel, positively.

"And won't he answer it?"

"Why, what you 'spose? Of course not, Madge."

She seemed to feel so clear upon the subject, that I began to breathe
more freely. O, it was everything to have such a wise little friend!

"But I oughtn't to said it, Fel! O, dear! What s'pose made me? _You_
never say bad things, never!"

Fel thought a moment, and then answered, as she looked at me with her
clear, happy eyes,--

"Well, you have lots of things to plague you, Madge; but I don't.
Everybody's real good to me, because I'm sick."

I looked at her, and began to cry again. My little heart had been
stirred to its very depths, and I could not bear to have her speak of
being sick.

"Now, Fel Allen," said I, "you don't s'pose you're going to die 'fore
I do? I can't live 'thout you! If you die, I'll die too."

"Why, I never said a thing about dying," returned Fel, in surprise.

"Well, you won't never leave me, will you? Say you won't never! Just
think of you up in heaven and