‘Celestina!’ she exclaimed joyfully.  But then the smile died away again, and a red flush covered her cheeks and forehead.  ‘No,’ she said, turning on the other side, ‘I don’t want to see you.  Go away.’

Celestina felt very distressed.  But she wanted to do Biddy good, so she put back her own feelings.

‘Please don’t say that,’ she said.  ’I’ll stay as quiet as anything, but please don’t send me away.  I’ve been so wanting to see you.’

There was a slight turning towards her on this, and at last Biddy lifted her head from the pillow a little.

‘Did you truly want to see me?’ she said.

‘Of course I did.  I’ve been very sorry about you being ill,’ Celestina replied.

Biddy did not speak.  Then Celestina heard a faint sound, and going up a little closer still, she saw that Biddy was crying.

‘Dear Miss Biddy,’ she whispered.  Then a pair of hot little arms, not so fat as they had been, were stretched out and thrown round her neck.

‘Will you kiss me, Celestina?’ whispered Bridget.  ’Do you really love me?  If you do, you’re the only one.  I’m too naughty—­I’ve been too naughty.  I’ve as good as killed papa—­I know he’s going to die.  I heard them saying the first night I’d as good as killed him, though I pretended not to hear.  And I’ve been trying to die myself; I thought p’raps if I prayed a great, great lot to be forgiven, God would forgive me before I died.  But I want to die, because I’m so naughty I’m only a trouble.  And I couldn’t live without papa, knowing I’d as good as killed him.  Oh, Celestina,’ and here the voice grew so low that Celestina could scarcely hear it, ’are you quite sure that papa hasn’t died already and they won’t tell me?’ and Celestina felt her shiver.

‘I heard him speaking as I came upstairs,’ said Celestina, so quietly that Biddy believed her perfectly; ’the door of his room was open.  I think he must be a little better to-day.’

‘Oh,’ said Biddy with a gasp, ‘I do wonder if he is.’

‘And——­’ Celestina began, then stopped again, ’I don’t think you should talk about trying to die like that,’ she said.  ’I—­I think it would be rather a lazy way of being sorry for what we’d done wrong just to try to die.’

‘I suppose it’s because I’m lazy then.  They all say I’m very lazy,’ Biddy replied.  ’But I can’t help it.  I’m not going to try and be good any more.  I fixed that before—­before that day.  It’s no use.’

Celestina considered a little.

‘I should think,’ she said at last—­’I should think you would want to get better to help to take care of your papa and make him better.’

Biddy started at this.  It was a new idea.

‘Do you think they’d let me?’ she said in a half whisper.  ’I thought I was too little.  Did you ever help to take care of your papa when he was ill?  But p’raps he’s never been ill?’

‘Oh yes, he has,’ said Celestina, with a sigh.  ’I think he’s iller than your papa very often.  I do lots of things for him then:  I make his tea always, and tidy his room.  And sometimes when he’s getting better and comes downstairs to the parlour I read aloud to him.  For when he’s ill, mother has all the more to be in the shop, you know.’