back on her pillow as the door-handle rattled. It was the Second Nurse
returning for night duty.

Early next morning the doctor came--a thin young man with a stoop, and a
crop of sandy hair that stood upright from his forehead. Tilda detested
him.

He and the Second Nurse talked apart for quite a long while, and paid no
attention to the child, who lay shamming a doze, but with her ears open.

She heard the doctor say--

"She? Oh, move her to the far end of the ward."

The Second Nurse muttered something, and he went on--

"She is well, practically. All she wants now is someone to keep an eye
on her, make her lie up for a couple of hours every day, and box her
ears if she won't."

"That's me," thought Tilda. "I'm to be moved out of the way because
t'other's going to die; and if she's going to die, there's no time to be
lost."

She stirred, lifted her head, and piped--

"Doctor!"

"Hullo, imp! I thought you were sleeping."