on, and kept my feelings to myself.

The girls were awful good to me. Real many have relations in Yorkburg,
and if I'd eaten all the fruit they sent me I'd been a tutti-frutti; but
I couldn't eat it. And then one day I began to talk so queer they were
frightened, and told Miss Bray, and she sent for the doctor quick. That
afternoon they took me to the hospital, and the last thing I saw was
little Josie White crying like her heart would break with her arms
around a tree.

"Please don't die, Mary Cary, please don't die!" she kept saying over
and over, and when they tried to make her go in she bawled worse than
ever. I tried to wave my hand.

"I'm not going to die, I'm coming back," I said, and that's all I
remember.

I knew they put me in something and drove off, and then I was in a
little white bed in a big room with a lot of other little beds in it;
and after that I didn't know I was living for three weeks. But I talked
just the same. They told me I made speeches by the hour, and read books
out loud, and recited poems that had never been printed. But when I
stopped and lay like the dead, just breathing, the girls say they heard
there were no hopes, and a lot of them just cried and cried. It was
awful nice of them, and if they hadn't cut my hair off I would have made
a real pretty corpse.

The day I first saw Miss Katherine really good she was standing by my
bed, holding my wrist in one hand and her watch in another, and I
thought she was an angel and I was in heaven. She was in white, and I