“There’s nothing like plenty of good victuals for curing the vapors,” observed Sally, sagely.  “You make the young woman eat this, Mrs. Sharpe, and she’ll feel better, you’ll see.”

Mrs. Sharpe smiled, as she bore off her burden, at the idea Sally must have of one little girl’s appetite.

She found Mollie sitting at the window gazing at the sea, sparkling as if sown with stars, in the morning sunshine.

“Is it not beautiful?” she said, turning to the nurse.  “Oh, if I were only free once more—­free to have a plunge in that snow-white surf—­free to have a breezy run along that delightful beach this magnificent morning?”

Mrs. Sharpe set down her tray, looked cautiously around her, lowered her voice, fixed her green-spectacled eyes meaningly on Mollie’s face, and uttered these remarkable words: 

“Wait!  You may be free before long!”

“What do you mean?” cried Mollie, starting violently.

“Hush!  ’Sh! ’sh!” laying her hand over the girl’s mouth.  “Not a word.  Walls have ears, in prisons.  Take your breakfast, miss,” raising her voice.  “It will do you no good, acting ugly and not eating.”

For the stairs had creaked under a cautious, ascending footstep, and
Mrs. Sharpe had heard that creak.

So, too, had Mollie this time; and she turned her shining eyes in eloquent silence to Mrs. Sharpe, and Mrs. Sharpe had nodded, and smiled, and grimaced toward the door in a way that spoke volumes.

“I’m going down to get my breakfast, now,” she said, authoritatively.  “Let me see what you’ll have done by the time I get back.”

The stairs were creaking again.  Mrs. Sharpe did not hurry too much, and Mrs. Oleander, all panting, was back in her rocker when she re-entered the kitchen, trying very hard to look as though she had never left it.

“And how’s your patient to-day, Mrs. Sharpe?” she asked, as soon as she could properly get her wind.

“Much the same,” said Mrs. Sharpe, with brevity; “wants to starve herself to death, crying in spells, and making a time.  Let me help you.”

This to Sally, who was scrambling to get half a dozen things at once on the table.  Mrs. Sharpe came to the rescue with a practiced hand, and upon the entrance of old Peter, who had been out chaining up the dogs, the quartet immediately sat down to breakfast.

After breakfast, the new nurse again made herself generally useful in the kitchen, helped Sally, who was inclined to give out at the knees, to “red up,” washed dishes and swept the floor with a brisk celerity worthy of all praise.

And then, it being wash-day, she whipped up her sleeves, displaying two lusty, round arms, and fell to with a will among the soiled linens and steaming soap-suds.

“I may as well do something,” she said, brusquely, in answer to Mrs. Oleander’s very faint objections; “there’s nothing to do upstairs, and she doesn’t want me.  She only calls me names.”