Rushing out of the room, Fanny hastened in search of Miss Adelaide, who, she had long since discovered, was the only one of the family that cared for Elsie; and in a few moments the young aunt was standing at the bedside, looking with tearful eyes at the little sufferer.

“Oh, Miss Adelaide!” whispered the girl, “I tink she’s berry sick; shan’t we send for de doctah?”

“Yes, tell Jim to go for him immediately, and to stop on his way back and tell Aunt Chloe that she is wanted here just as soon as she can possibly come,” replied Adelaide quickly, and then she set herself to work to make the child as comfortable as possible, remaining beside her until Chloe came to take her place, which was in less than an hour after she had received the summons, and just as the breakfast-bell rang at Roselands.

“So Elsie has taken a fever, and there is no knowing what it is, or whether it is contagious or not,” remarked Mrs. Dinsmore.  “It is really fortunate that we were just going away for our summer trip.  I shall take all the children now, and we will start this very day; what a good thing it is that Elsie has kept her room so constantly of late!  Can you pack in time for the afternoon train, Adelaide?”

“I shall not go now, mamma,” replied Adelaide quietly.

“Why not?” asked her mother in a tone of surprise.

“Because I prefer to stay with Elsie.”

“What absurd folly!” exclaimed Mrs. Dinsmore.  “Aunt Chloe will do everything that is necessary, and you don’t know to what infection you may be exposing yourself.”

“I don’t think there is any danger, mamma; and if Elsie should be very ill Aunt Chloe will need assistance; and I am not willing to leave Horace’s child to the care of servants.  Elsie has been a great comfort to me in my sorrow,” she added, with tears in her eyes, “and I will not forsake her now; and you know, mamma, it is no self-denial, for I have no heart for gayety.  I would much rather stay.”

“Certainly; stay if you like,” answered her father, speaking for the first time.  “I do not imagine that Elsie’s disease is contagious; she has doubtless worried herself sick, and it would not look well to the neighbors for us all to run away and leave the child so ill.  Ah! there is the doctor, and we will have his opinion,” he exclaimed, as through the half-open door he caught a glimpse of the family physician descending the stairs.  “Ask him in to breakfast, Pomp.  Good-morning, doctor! how do you find your patient?”

“I think her quite a sick child, sir, though of the precise nature of her disease I am not yet able to form a decided opinion,” replied the physician, accepting the offered seat at the table.

“Is it anything contagious?” inquired Mrs. Dinsmore anxiously.

“I cannot yet say certainly, madam, but I think not.”

“Shall we send for Horace? that is, would you advise it?” asked Mr. Dinsmore hesitatingly.