48 A YEAR WITH NELLIE -

The door of Harry’s bed-room was just ajay.
She pushed it very softly open and looked in.

Her father was sitting by the side of the
bed, his head resting on his hand. He looked
up at the slight creak made by the door, and
seeing Nellie, beckoned to her to come near.

“Father, is: he—is he very bad?” she whis-
pered, as Mr. Maine put his arm round her,
drew her to him, and kissed her pale cheek.

“Very,” he replied in a low voice, and turned
his head towards the bed, at which Nellie had
been almost afraid to look. She ventured now
to move her eyes that way, and saw her brother
lying so still, with his face so marbly white, that
she began to shiver more than ever.

“Go and ask God to let him live,” her father
whispered in her ear.

She was moving away to obey when a
thought struck her.

“Where is mother?” she asked very softly.

“Lying down,” Mr. Maine replied gently.
“The shock was too much for her. I am afraid
we shall have her to nurse, too, Nellie.”

The child looked at him for a minute as
though she could hardly understand so much
trouble all at once; then she stole away and