`Oh! Only "j`aime, tu aimes, it aime", you know - the same that our class is learning at school. She hasn't tried any but that. Sometimes she says it quite nicely, but sometimes she's very stupid, and I have to scold her.' Amy had quite recovered her spirits by this time.

`Are these the only dolls you have?'

`Oh, please don't call them that!' urged Amy. `It hurts their feelings dreadfully. I never let them know that they are dolls. They think that they are real children, only sometimes, when they are very bad, I use the word for a punishment. I've got several other children. There's old Ragazza. My uncle named her, and she's made of rag, but she has such bad rheumatism that I don't play with her any longer; I just give her medicine. Then there's Effie Deans she's only got one leg; and Mopsa the Fairy - she's a tiny one made out of china; and Peg of Linkinvaddy - but she don't count, for she's come all to pieces.'

`What very queer names your children have!' said Elsie, who had come in during the enumeration.

`Yes; Uncle Ned named them. He's a very funny uncle, but he's nice. He's always so much interested in my children.'

`There's papa now!' cried Katy, and she ran downstairs to meet him.

`Did I do right?' she asked anxiously, after she had told her story.

`Yes, my dear, perfectly right,' replied Dr Carr. `I only hope Amy was taken away in time. I will go round at once to see Mrs Ashe and the boy; and, Katy, keep away from me when I come back, and keep the others away, till I have changed my coat.'

It is odd how soon and how easily human beings accustom themselves to a new condition of things. When sudden illness comes, or sudden sorrow, or a house is burned up, or blown down by a tornado, there are a few hours or days of confusion and bewilderment, and then people gather up their wits and their courage and set to work to repair damage. They clear away ruins, plant and rebuild, very much as ants whose hill has been trodden upon, and who, after running wildly about for a little while, begin all together to reconstruct the cone of sand which is so important in their eyes. In a very short time the changes which at first seem so sad and strange become accustomed and matter-of-course things which no longer surprise us.

It seemed to the Carrs after a few days as if they had always had Amy in the house with them. Papa's daily visit to the sick room, their avoidance of him till after he had `changed his coat', Amy's lessons and games of play, her dressing and undressing, the walks with the make-believe mamma, the dropping of notes into the little basket, seemed part of a system of things which had been going on for a long, long time, and which every-body would miss should they suddenly stop.

But they by no means suddenly stopped. Little Walter Ashe's case proved to be rather a severe one, and after he had begun to mend, he caught cold somehow and was taken worse again. There were some serious symptoms, and for a few days Dr Carr did not feel sure how things would turn. He did not speak of his anxiety at home, but kept silence and a cheerful face, as doctors know how to do. Only Katy, who was more intimate with her father than the rest, guessed that things were going gravely at the other house, and she was too well trained to ask questions. The threatening symptoms passed off, however, and little Walter slowly got better; but it was a long convalescence, and Mrs Ashe grew thin and pale before he began to look rosy. There was no one on whom she could devolve the charge of the child. His mother was dead; his father, an over-worked business man, had barely time to come once a week to see about him, and there was no one at his home but a housekeeper, in whom Mrs Ashe had not full confidence. So the good aunt denied herself the sight of her own child, and devoted her strength and time to Walter; nearly two months passed, and still little Amy remained at Dr Carr's.