Prudy felt greatly soothed, but her cap-strings were still shaking, and she could not trust her voice to speak.

Nothing more was said for some time.

Dotty clattered away at the dishes, kitty purred by the stove, and Horace rocked his little sister, who clung about his neck like an everlasting pea.

Presently he stopped rocking, and exclaimed,-- "Why, what's the matter with my Toddlekins?
What makes her breathe so short ?" "My froat's short; that's what is it," replied the little philosopher, closing her eyes, as if she did not choose to talk.
"But how does your throat feel, Topknot ?" "Feels bad; why ?" "Girls, this child has a sore throat, and a high fever.

Her hands are as hot as pepper." Dotty wrung the dish-cloth tragically.
"She's going to have the measles; you see'f she don't." "Hush!" said Prudy, springing up, and tucking back her sleeves.