"Poor little thing! She's not dead, is she, Dora?" asked the young
man softly, as he took the child in his arms and entered the house,
followed by Dora.

"Oh, no! I think not; only fainted. I suppose there's hot water, for
a bath, in the kitchen."

As she spoke, they entered the sitting-room,--a cool, shady
apartment, with a great beam crossing the ceilings, and deep
recesses to the windows, with seats in them.

At the farther side, Dora threw open the door of a little bedroom,
whose gay-papered walls and flowered chintz furniture, not to speak
of a great sweet-brier bush tapping and scratching at the window,
with all its thousand sharp little fingers, gave it a good right to
be called the rosy-room. Dora hastily drew away the bright
counterpane, and nodded to Karl, who laid the little form he carried
tenderly upon the bed.

At this moment, another door into the sitting-room opened; and a
girl, somewhat older than Dora, put in her head, looked about for a
moment, and then came curiously toward the door of the rosy-room.

"I thought I heard you, Dora," said she. "What are you doing in
here? Why!-who's that?"

"O Kitty! can you warm a little of that broth we had for dinner, to
give her? She's just starved, I really believe. And is there any
ammonia in the house?-smelling-salts, you know. Didn't aunt have