“She is not so bad in other ways, but she does delight to tease Lewie, and keep him screaming.  Now, it has been one incessant scream from the child all this morning, and Agnes can amuse him very well when she chooses.”

“Judging from all her own pretty things scattered about the floor here, I should think she had been doing her best to amuse him,” said Mrs. Wharton; “she has even taken down her beautiful work-box, of which she has always been so careful.  You may be sure it was a case of extremity, which compelled her to do that.”

“Why, what a sad litter they have made to be sure; I did not observe it before.  The fact is, Ellen, I have been exceedingly occupied this morning, and did not know what the children were about, only that Agnes kept Lewie screaming, and, at last, with the utmost rudeness, for that I saw myself, she snatched something from his hand, and for that, I punished her.”

“Ah, yes, I see, Harriet,” said Mrs. Wharton, glancing at the yellow-covered publication on the table; “I see how it is, now; you have been wholly absorbed in one of those wretched novels, and left little Agnes to take care of a sick, cross baby.  That child is very sick, Harriet; do you see what a burning fever he has?”

“Ellen, do you think so?” said the mother hastily and in great agitation.  “Oh, Ellen, what shall I do; oh, what shall I do! perhaps my baby, my darling, is going to be very ill.”

“Do not agitate yourself so, Harriet, I will send Matthew directly over to the village for the doctor; but first, may I have Agnes?”

“Oh, do what you please with Agnes, only send the doctor to my baby; call Mammy, she will bring Agnes, and do go, quick!”

The bell was rung, and Mammy was despatched to bring the little prisoner down; she found her as we left her, sleeping with her head upon her arms.

“Precious lamb!” said Mammy, “she has cried herself to sleep.”  Then, kissing her, and rousing her gently, she told her that her aunt and cousins had come to take her to Brook Farm.

Agnes was at first very happy at the idea of once more enjoying the sunshine of her aunt’s cheerful home, but, when she heard that Lewie was sick, a cloud came over her face.

“Aunty,” she whispered, “I think I had better not go, perhaps I can do something for Lewie.  I can almost always amuse him.”

“Lewie is too sick to be amused now, my dear, and you can do no good here; besides, I want to get you away as quickly as possible, for I think it may be the scarlet fever that Lewie has.  Come, darling, we will go.”

Agnes drew her hand quietly from that of her aunt, and running back, she stooped over her little brother as he lay in his mother’s arms, and kissed him; and then, standing a moment before her mother, she raised her eyes to her face.  But her mother’s eyes, with a gaze of almost despair, were fixed on her darling boy, and she did not seem to be aware even of the presence of her little daughter.