So one bright evening Tiza slipped into the farmhouse and squeezed in after her mother to the little room where Becky was lying, a white-faced feverish little creature, low down among the pillows.
"Becky," said Tiza, sitting down beside her sister, as if nothing had happened, "here's some strawberries.

Wheeler gave me some.

You can have some if you want." "Just one," said Becky, in her weak shaky voice, smiling at her; and Tiza knelt on the bed and stuffed one softly into her mouth.
"You'll have to nurse baby now, Tiza," said Becky presently; "he's been under mother's feet terrible.

Mind you don't let him eat nasty things.
He'll get at the coals if you don't mind him." "I'll not let him," said Tiza shortly, setting to work on her own strawberries.
All this didn't sound very affectionate; but I think all the same Tiza did love Becky, and I believe she tried to do her best in her own funny way while Becky was ill.

Baby screamed a good deal certainly when she nursed him, and it was quite impossible of course for Tiza to keep out of mischief altogether for two or three weeks.