Hepsy's eyes rested keenly on Lucy's pale, sweet face more than once,
and she was forced to admit that it was paler and thinner and more
worn-looking than it need be. But she hardened her heart, and refused
to obey its more kindly promptings. A few more days went by. Lucy
grew weaker, and flagged in her work; and Aunt Hepsy watched her, and
_would not_ be the first to take needful steps. On Sunday morning
Lucy did not come downstairs at the usual time, and even the
clattering of breakfast dishes failed to bring her. At length Aunt
Hepsy went upstairs. Lucy was still in bed.

"Are you sick, child?" said Aunt Hepsy in a strange quick voice.

Lucy answered very feebly,--"I'm afraid I'm goin' to be, Aunt Hepsy.
I tried to get up, but I couldn't; and I haven't slept any all
night."

"Where do you feel ill?"

"All over," said the girl wearily. "I've felt so for a long time, but
I tried to go about. Are you angry because I'm going to be sick, Aunt
Hepsy? It'll be a bother to you; but perhaps I'm going to mamma."

"Do you want to kill me outright, Lucy?" said her aunt; and even in
her weakness Lucy opened her eyes wide in surprise. "If you speak
about goin' to yer ma again," she said, "ye will kill me. Ye've got
to lie there an' get better as fast as you like. I'll send for Dr.
Gair, an' nurse ye night and day."

Aunt Hepsy could have said a great deal more, but a something in her
throat prevented her. She went downstairs immediately, and despatched