“Oh mamma, I was thinking how good some Bologna sausage, or anything besides horrid old gruel, would taste.”

The truth of the matter was that the child was half-starved.  Still the doctor insisted that she should have nothing but mutton or rice gruel, and those only in very small quantities.  Under such treatment she wasted to a mere shadow of her former chubby self.

She proved a tyrant in one respect, in that she would have no one but her mother to watch her.  If Mrs. Davenport left the room when Beth was awake, Beth at once worried herself into a high fever.  The strain was telling upon Mrs. Davenport, but so great was her anxiety that she would hardly take needed rest.

One day Beth was asleep, and Maggie tip-toed into the room and whispered to Mrs. Davenport: 

“Dear Miss Mary, won’t yo’ please let dis ole mammy watch de honey lamb for jes’ a little while.  Yo’ knows I lub her wid all my heart, an’ I wouldn’t let nuffin harm de pet for de world.  Yo’ go into de odder room an’ rest awhile.  If de precious lamb wants yo’, I’ll call right away, honest.”

Thus urged, Mrs. Davenport decided to grant Maggie’s request, and she left the room without disturbing Beth’s slumbers.

Maggie sat down by the cot.  The sight of Beth so emaciated melted Maggie almost to tears.  She thus soliloquized: 

“Dat horrid ole medicine man, he jes’ ought to be made to live on gruels de rest of his life, so he ought.  It’s jes’ ter’ble to starve de chile de way he does.  I’d like to be her doctah awhile.  I’d order chicken and possum, an’——­”

Suddenly Beth’s eyes opened.  “Maggie, what did you cook for dinner to-day?”

Maggie confided to her husband afterwards: 

“Law, Titus, does yo’ tink I could sit up dar an’ tell dat precious chile we had chicken when I knew her little stomack was jes’ groanin’ for chicken?  No, ’deed.  Do I am deaconess, I’d rather be burned for a lie.  So I jes’ answers as pert-like as pos’ble.  ‘Law, honey, we jes’ had mutton like yo’r brof is made of.’”

Beth, however, was not to be deceived.  Her senses had grown unusually acute during her sickness.  She pointed her finger at Maggie and said: 

“Maggie, that’s not true.  You had chicken and biscuits, for I smelled them.  Oh, I’m so hungry.”

Maggie sighed sympathetically.  “Law, honey, would yo’ like some brof?”

“Broth,” repeated Beth almost in tears.  “I hate broth.  I’ll starve before I eat any more.  I want chicken.  Please, please get me some.”

The appeal melted Maggie completely.  She arose and called Duke from the doorway.

“Duke,” she said, pointing to the cot, “don’t yo’ let any one come near missy till I come back.  Do yo’ understand?”

The delighted dog wagged his tail, and Maggie left the room.

Duke’s first impulse was to rush up to the cot, and show his joy in true dog fashion.  He longed to cover Beth’s face and hands with kisses.  He knew, however, that excitement was bad for her.  He therefore walked quietly up to the cot and laid his head down beside his little playmate as if inviting a caress.  She put a weak little hand on his head.