"O yes," replied the nurse, recollecting herself; "I didn't think of
him."

He's a first-rate boy, William is," said Ida, who was disposed to be
communicative. "He's good to his mother. You see his mother is sick
most of the time, and can't do much; and he's got a little sister,
she ain't more than four or five years old--and William supports
them by selling things. "He's only sixteen; isn't he a smart boy?"

"Yes;" said the nurse, mechanically.

"Some time," continued Ida, "I hope I shall be able to earn
something for father and mother, so they won't be obliged to work so
hard."

"What could you do?" asked the nurse, curiously.

"I don't know as I could do much," said Ida, modestly; "but when I
have practised more, perhaps I could draw pictures that people would
buy."

"So you know how to draw?"

"Yes, I've been taking lessons for over a year."

"And how do you like it?"

"Oh, ever so much! I like it a good deal better than music."

"Do you know anything of that?"