smitten down with the fever which he had taken with Daisy's breath the
many nights and days he watched her without rest or sufficient food.
There was a faint, followed by a long interval of unconsciousness, and
when he came to himself he was in Daisy's own room, lying on Daisy's
little bed, and Daisy herself was bending anxiously over him with a
flush on her white cheeks and a soft, pitiful look in her blue eyes.

"What is it? Where am I?" he asked, and Daisy replied:

"You are here in my room--on my bed; and you've got the fever, and I'm
going to take care of you, and I'm so glad. Not glad you have the
fever," she added, as she met his look of wonder, "but glad I can repay
in part all you did for me, you dear, noble Tom! And you are not to
talk," and she laid her small hand on his mouth as she saw him about to
speak. "I am strong enough; the doctor says so, and I'd do it if he
didn't, for you are the best, the truest friend I have."

She was rubbing his hot, feverish hands, and though the touch of her
cool, soft fingers was so delicious, poor Tom thought of the big
freckles so obnoxious to the little lady, and, drawing his hands from
her grasp, hid them beneath the clothes. Gladly, too, would he have
covered his face and hair from her sight, but this he could not do and
breathe, but he begged her to leave him and send someone in her place.
But Daisy would not listen to him.

He had nursed her day and night, she said, and she should stay with him,
and she did, through three weeks, when Tom's fever ran higher than hers
had done, because there was more for it to feed upon, and when Tom in
his ravings talked of things which made her heart ache with a new and
different pain from that already there.