"Who is this Good Lady?" inquired Mr.
Kirby. "I have been hardly twenty-four
hours in this place, and I seem to have heard
her name fifty times; and yet nobody seems
able to say who she is."

"She almost overpowers their faculties, I
believe," replied the doctor; "and, indeed, it
is not very easy to look upon her as upon any
other young lady. It comes easier to one's
tongue to call her an angel than to introduce
her as Miss Mary Pickard, from America."

When he had told what he knew of her,
the Kirbys said, in the same breath,

"Let us go and see her." And the doctor
showed them the way to Widow Johnson's,
where poor Jem was languishing, in that
state which is so affecting to witness, when
he who has no intellect seems to have more
power of patience than he who has most.
The visitors arrived at a critical moment,
however, when poor Jem's distress was very
great, and his mother's hardly less. There
lay the Good Lady on the ground, doubled up
in a strange sort of way; Mrs. Johnson trying
to go to her, but unable; and Jem, on his bed
in the closet within, crying because something
was clearly the matter.

"What's to do now?" exclaimed the
doctor.

Mary laughed as she answered, "O nothing,
but that I can't get up. I don't know how I
fell, and I can't get up. But it is mere fatigue
—want of sleep. Do convince Aunty that I
have not got the fever."

"Let's see," said the doctor. Then, after
a short study of his new patient, he assured
Mrs. Johnson that he saw no signs of fever
about her niece. She had had enough of
nursing for the present, and now she must
have rest.

"That is just it," said Mary. " If somebody
will put something under me here, and
just let me sleep for a few days, I shall do
very well."

"Not there, Miss Pickard," said Mrs.
Kirby, "you must be brought to our house,
where everything will be quiet about you;
and then you may sleep on till Christmas, if
you will."

Mary felt the kindness; but she evidently
preferred remaining where she was; and, with
due consideration, she was indulged. She
did not wish to be carried through the street,
so that the people might see that the Good
Lady was down at last; and besides, she felt
as if she should die by the way, though really
believing she should do very well if only let
alone. She was allowed to order things just as
she liked. A mattress was put under her, on
the floor. Ann Warrender came and undressed
her, lifting her limbs as if she was an infant,
for she could not move them herself; and
daily was she refreshed, as she had taught
others to refresh those who cannot move from
their beds. Every morning the doctor came,
and agreed with her that there was nothing
in the world the matter with her; that she
had only to lie still till she felt the wish to
get up; and every day came Mrs. Kirby to
take a look at her, if her eyes were closed:
and if she was able to talk and listen, to tell
her how the sick were faring, and what were
the prospects of Bleaburn. After these visits,
something good was often found near the
pillow; some firm jelly, or particularly pure
arrow-root, or the like; odd things to be
dropped by the fairies; but Mrs. Kirby said
the neighbours liked to think that the Good
Lady was waited on by the Good People.

Another odd thing was, that for several
days Mary could not sleep at all. She would
have liked it, and she needed it extremely,
and the window curtain was drawn, and
everybody was very quiet, and even poor
Jem caught the trick of quietness, and lay
immoveable for hours, when the door of his
closet was open, watching to see her sleep.
But she could not. She felt, what was indeed
true, that Aunty's large black eyes were for
ever fixed upon her; and she could not but be
aware that the matter of the very first public
concern in Bleaburn was, that she should go
to sleep; and this was enough to prevent it.
At last, when people were getting frightened,
and even the doctor told Mr. Kirby that he
should be glad to correct this insomnolence,
the news went softly along the street one day,
told in whispers even at the further end, that
the Good Lady was asleep. The children
were warned that they must keep within
doors, or go up to the brow to play; there
must be no noise in the hollow. The dogs
were not allowed to bark, nor the ducks to
quack; and Farmer Neale's carts were, on no
account, to go below the Plough and Harrow.
The patience of all persons who liked to make
a noise was tried and proved, for nobody
broke the rule; and when Mary once began
sleeping, it seemed as if she would never stop.
She could hardly keep awake to eat, or to be
washed; and, as for having her hair brushed,
that is always drowsy work, and she could
never look before her for two minutes together
while it was done. She thought it all very
ridiculous, and laughed at her own laziness,
and then, before the smile was off her lips, she
had sunk on her pillow and was asleep again.

PART III.

CHAPTER VII.

It was a regular business now for three or
four of the boys of Bleaburn to go up to the
brow every morning to bring down the stores
from O——, which were daily left there under
the care of the watch. Mr. Kirby had great
influence already with the boys of Bleaburn.
He found plenty for them to do, and, when
they were very hungry with running about,
he gave them wholesome food to satisfy their
healthy appetite. He said, he and Mrs. Kirby
and the doctor worked hard, and they could not
let anybody be idle but those who were ill: and,
now that the regular work and wages of the
place were suspended, he arranged matters