CHAPTER V.


Dick took many days to get well, and all the time his crib remained in
the corner of his mother's room. The red pail and spade were tidied away,
and his knickerbocker suit was put out of sight; and in the afternoon,
when the house was empty, and nurse, and Susie, and Amy, and Tom, and
baby were all out on the sands, his mother used to read delightful
stories to him, whilst he lay and watched her with round, wondering eyes.
His cough was troublesome at night, but however often he twisted, and
turned, and choked, there was the familiar face bending over him, her arm
beneath his head.

Dick was a very kind little boy, and he tried always to cough under the
bed-clothes, so as not to wake her, but it was no use. However carefully
he coughed, her eyes always opened at once.

"I am taking away your peace-time," he said, over and over again. And she
always answered, "Never mind, darling; I _could_ not sleep if you wanted
me."

"You look so funny," he said once.

"Perhaps I am tired, Dickie."

But she smiled as she spoke, and he felt relieved. It was when she was