when he saw her aunt, and, leaving some medicine, had gone away again; and that serious face was the only one which Nettie had seen since early morning.

"Water! water!" gasped a faint voice, as she sat there waiting.

She sprang up quickly, and, raising her aunt's head, gave her a drink. As she turned from the bed, after smoothing the pillows and laying a wet cloth on the burning forehead, a shadow darkened the doorway, and, looking up, Nettie saw Mr. Thorn. She was beside him in

an instant.

"Oh, I am so glad!" she said, eagerly. "I began to think you would not come."

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What! after I had promised? You faithless little girl! what shall I do to you?"

She did not care what he did, so that he did not leave her; and when she had told him all that had happened, and he put his arm around her and called her his little Florence Nightingale, she felt repaid for what she had done. He could do nothing for Mrs. Allen. She did not know him, and made no answer when he spoke to her; so he sat down in the window, and, drawing Nettie to his side, gave her all the loving messages which Mrs. Thorn had sent to her.. That visit did Nettie a world of good; and when he left, promising to return on the morrow, she bade him give her best love to Mrs. Thorn, and tell her that she was quite content and happy.

But as day after day passed on Nettie grew very tired; and, oftentimes, her patience was sorely tried by the boys' rudeness and want of consideration. Mr. Thorn had suggested to her, on the second day, that she should come home at night, fearing that her own strength might give way; but this she had steadily refused to do; and as her uncle did not allow her to sit up after the first night, Mr. Thorn had not pressed the point, thinking it best to let her decide for herself. But even he, although Nettie poured

many of her troubles into his sympathizing ear, never knew how much she had to bear. Only the dear, heavenly Father, for whose sake she bore it all, knew what that heart suffered, day by day, for love of Him.

One day the doctor came in, as usual, to see his patient; but he did not, as was his custom, leave immediately. He sat down at the bedside, with his fingers on the sick woman's wrist, anxiously watching her face. By-and-by he rose, and, telling Nettie that the house must be kept perfectly silent, led Jack out upon the sands, and bade Ben, who was loitering there, to take care of him; adding, in a grave tone,

"You will do well to think of your mother's comfort, today at least. I think that she is dying."

Startled by the doctor's manner, as well as by his words, Ben led Jack down behind the rocks, and Nettie was left in the house with her aunt. But she was not long alone. The physician had called at Mrs. Moore's to ask her to go down to Allen's hut; and, when she reached it, she found Mr. Thorn already there. Soon the doctor returned and bent over the bed again.

"Can nothing save her?" asked Mr. Thorn, in a low voice.

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Nothing but God's almighty power. I can do no more." And then they sat and waited silently. There was not a sound in the room save the loud tick of the eight-day clock, and the heavy, laboured breathing of the suffering woman. By-and-by Mr. Thorn rose, and, touching the doctor on the shoulder, went out. After a moment he beckoned to Mrs. Moore, and Nettie was left alone once more. As she sat there, praying silently but most earnestly that God would teach her aunt to love Him before she died, she heard a slight rustle, and, turning toward the bed, saw that Mrs. Allen's eyes were open. Her lips moved, and, going close to her, Nettie bent her head to listen.

"Who is it?" whispered the feeble voice.

"It is Nettie, Aunt Susan."

"No; that voice is too gentle, and the eyes are too soft. It can't be Nettie."

"Never mind it now, auntie. Let me call the doctor." He came, and his face brightened when he saw his patient.

"This is better than I had hoped," he said, joyfully. "The worst is over; if she has good nursing she may recover, by God's blessing. Mr. Thorn, I think we must thank our little girl for this."

Nettie looked up quickly.

"I mean what I say," said the doctor, who had led her to the door, in order that their voices might not disturb the sick woman. 66 If your aunt had been left to such poor care as she had before you came here, she would have been dead long before this."

"What do you say to that, Nettie ?" said Mr. Thorn, laying his hand tenderly upon her hair.

She did not say anything. She only looked up into the clear blue sky, clasping her hands very tightly together. The words that her joyous, happy heart spoke were for no mortal ear to ear. They saw the dark eyes kindle, and the pale cheek flush; but only God heard the low-breathed words of glad thanksgiving.

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"And now, my dear," said the doctor, after a long pause, I have something to say. You must not be so constantly with Mrs. Allen. The next thing will be that I shall have to nurse you through a fever. You must go home with Mr. Thorn. You may spend your days here, but you must not remain at night."

"But who will take care of aunt, and get the boys' breakfast and supper?"

"The boys may attend to their own meals. We have talked the matter over, and Mrs. Moore has promised to stay here at night until it is safe to leave your aunt. Isn't

E

that so, Mrs. Moore ?" he asked, as she came toward them.

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sure.

'Yes, sir. I'm more than willing to help the child, I'm It's very hard for me to free myself of the young ones of a morning; but my man can look after them nights, and I'm ready to do my part for the poor body. She used to anger me sore with her sharp tongue; but she's quiet enough now, poor thing. I'd do anything I could for the little lass. She's given all us fisher-folk a

good lesson, Mr. Thorn."

"I think that she has taught us all a lesson," said Mr. Thorn, stroking the head which leaned against him. Now, Nettie, Mrs. Moore will stay here until your uncle comes home, so we will go at once."

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She was very glad to go, when she found that everything had been so nicely arranged for her. Her aunt had fallen into a soft sleep; and, giving Mrs. Moore a message for her uncle, she went joyfully homeward.

Never was there a happier little girl than the quiet child who sat that evening on a low stool, with her weary head resting against Mrs. Thorn's knee. It was so still and peaceful in that bright pleasant room, with no one near but these two precious friends, whose love was such a blessing to her, and that other Friend, more precious still, for whose dear sake she had endured so much.

CHAPTER X.

66 MY LITTLE DAUGHTER."

MORNING after morning, for many days, Nettie might have been seen walking briskly down the shore-road, always with a basket upon her arm, toward John Allen's hut. Margery Bray protested earnestly against this arrangement,

by which her playmate was taken so entirely from her; but Nettie was not to be moved.

"I want you even more than you want me, Margie," she would say; "but I must go." And no amount of persuasion could induce her to remain at home, unless she was needed by Mrs. Thorn.

It was no easy task which she had taken upon herself. As strength returned, Aunt Susan became very irritable and exacting, and Nettie's patience was sorely tried. On some days it seemed as if everything that she did was wrong. The broth was either too hot or too cold, too thin or too thick; if she tried to make Jack mind what she told him, she was called hard and cross; if she let him have his own way, she was told that she spoiled him; until, at last, she almost gave up the hope of winning her aunt by love and kindness for Nettie did not know that poor Aunt Susan was only trying to hide the better feelings which were struggling for the mastery in her heart-feelings which were daily gaining strength and power, but which she was too proud to confess.

But after a time there came a change in this weary, monotonous life. Mrs. Thorn had been growing more and more feeble as the colder weather came on, and the doctor advised her husband to try what the soft southern air would do for her. The plan was scarcely thought of before it was adopted; and it was determined to sail at once for Savannah. And then Nettie realised how much her aunt really depended upon her. Not that Mrs. Allen gave her the comfort of telling her that she missed the sight of her bright face she only learned the truth by her querulous fretting at her tardiness when she was detained at home, and her complaints of the shortness of her visits; for she was now so much needed by Mrs. Thorn that the time which she could spend on the shore was necessarily much shortened.

On the day before their departure there was so much to