Jim tried to put his arm around her, but something hurt him in his chest when he moved, so he patted her hand instead.

“Never mind, ma,” he said, his breath coming short; “we ain’t got no money to buy the medicine, even if the doctor did come.  You go git some supper, now; an’, ma, don’t worry; I’m goin’ to take keer of you all!  Only—­only,” he added, wearily, “I guess I can’t sleep in the wagon to-night.”

Slowly the hours passed until midnight.  Mrs. Wiggs had pulled Jim’s cot close to the stove, and applied vigorous measures to relieve him.  Her efforts were unceasing, and one after another the homely country remedies were faithfully administered.  At twelve o’clock he grew restless.

“Seems like I’m hot, then agin I’m cold,” he said, speaking with difficulty.  “Could you find a little somethin’ more to put over me, ma?”

Mrs. Wiggs got up and went toward the bed.  The three little girls lay huddled under one old quilt, their faces pale and sunken.  She turned away abruptly, and looked toward the corner where Billy slept on a pallet.  The blankets on his bed were insufficient even for him.  She put her hands over her face, and for a moment dry sobs convulsed her.  The hardest grief is often that which leaves no trace.  When she went back to the stove she had a smile ready for the sick boy.

“Here’s the very thing,” she said; “it’s my dress skirt.  I don’t need it a mite, settin’ up here so clost to the fire.  See how nice it tucks in all ’round!”

For a while he lay silent, then he said:  “Ma, are you ’wake?”

“Yes, Jim.”

“Well, I bin thinking it over.  If I ain’t better in the morning I guess—­” the words came reluctantly—­“I guess you’d better go see the Christmas lady.  I wouldn’t mind her knowin’ so much.  ’T won’t be fer long, nohow, cause I kin take keer of you all soon—­ soon ’s I kin git up.”

The talking brought on severe coughing, and he sank back exhausted.

“Can’t you go to sleep, honey?” asked his mother.

“No, it’s them ole wheels,” he said fretfully, “them wheels at the fact’ry; when I git to sleep they keep on wakin’ me up.”

Mrs. Wiggs’s hands were rough and knotted, but love taught them to be gentle as she smoothed his hot head.

“Want me to tell you ’bout the country, Jim?” she asked.

Since he was a little boy he had loved to hear of their old home in the valley.  His dim recollection of it all formed his one conception of heaven.

“Yes, ma; mebbe it will make me fergit the wheels,” he said.

“Well,” she began, putting her head beside his on the pillow, so he could not watch her face, “it was all jes’ like a big front yard without no fences, an’ the flowers didn’t belong to folks like they do over on the avenue, where you dassent pick a one; but they was God’s, an’ you was welcome to all you could pull.  An’ there was trees, Jim, where you could climb