with feeble nerves, and no change of objects.
She turned over in her mind what could be
done to amuse him, and occupy his faculties.
She did speak of resignation, and in a way
which made him. devour her words; but it
was while putting herself in his place, and
resigning herself to his circumstances. She
liked the breeze upon the heights, but every
spare half-hour was given to Allan; and
every little indulgence that offered itself to her
was, somehow, changed into some comfort for
him. By the time the crocuses should blow,
there was a little green balcony put up before
the window. That was Jack's handiwork;
and, after one of Mr. Franklin's visits, somebody
sent two hyacinths and three tulips,
soon to come into blow. One day, "Mother"
laughed, and said she had brought a lady to
visit him; and the bright-haired little Betsy
Holt peeped shily from behind her apron.
Everybody grew free where "Mother" was;
and, in a few minutes, Betsy was on the bed,
with her arm round Allan's neck, laughing
and prattling, till she was tired; and then
she went to sleep upon his arm. After that,
little Betsy's tiny footstep was heard often
upon the stairs, toiling up, a stair at a time,
and many a laugh came from Allan's room
when the child was there.

Little Miss Betsy was too young and too
precious to be allowed to cross the lane alone.
When there was nobody to bring her, she
would go to one of the great warehouse
windows opposite, and, if Allan's window was
open, she would call to him till he raised
himself in bed by the cord that hung from
the ceiling, and gave her the nod she wanted.
Allan was not her only attraction in that
room. Allan had pretty birds,—such pretty
birds, that Betsy liked them better than any
she saw on the downs. There was a family
of canaries. "Mother" knew where she
could have a pair of canaries, if only she had
a cage. This cage was Allan's first piece of
real work; and it occupied his mind for many
days. It was to be a large cage, fit for building
in, and rearing a brood. Then, it was
necessary to know what were the materials
for building, and how the brood should be
reared. Mr. Franklin was inquired of; and
then Allan felt what a comfort it would be
if he could read for himself what he wanted
to know. He could read a little, but it was
irksome—almost impossible to him—to make
out the meaning of anything in print. The
children and he came to an agreement that
they should help him to what they learned at
school. They did their part as well as they
could; but Allan was too quick and clever
for them; and, in a little while, Mr. Franklin
himself was so good as to take up the task.
He came for an hour every Sunday; and a few
minutes two or three times in the week
besides, set Allan forward so well, that he
could read for his own pleasure and other
people's. Mr. Franklin brought him merry
and entertaining, as well as grave books: and
on the summer evenings, two years after his
accident, Allan might be seen propped up in
bed, his face as healthful, and his hair as
curly as ever, and his broad hands, apparently
as fit as ever for work,—and often with a
merry smile upon his countenance, reading to
"Mother," as she darned stockings; and
Ewing, smoking his pipe out of the window,
and the children leaning round the bed. There
were times, however, when the poor fellow
could do nothing but cry; and then reading
was out of the question; for no one could
read fluently but himself. At such times
the best resource was to ask him to do something
for "Mother;" to mend a wire sieve,
or a child's cart, or even to sew. He learned
to sew neatly enough to hem house linen, and
do the least difficult parts of the boys' weekday
shirts. He might even be seen unripping
a gown. He declined learning to darn stockings,
lest, as he said, laughing, all the old
wives in the neighbourhood should keep him
at work, and leave him no time for other
things. Basket-making was one of his arts;
and when anybody brought him prints, or
other pictures, he framed them; so that in
time his room was hung all round with them;
and it was a pretty task to teach little Betsy
what they were about. There was something,
however, that she liked better,—quite as well
as the canaries,—and that was a skylark,
with a piece of fresh turf from the down, at
the bottom of the cage. Not a day had Allan
ever to wait for materials for any of these
works which took his fancy. He always
asked "Mother," and she, the hardest-worked
of women, always contrived to procure for
him what he wanted. She looked upon it as
giving him his medicine—as being an indispensable
part of the duty towards him which
she had undertaken.

A feeling of self-reproach arises in detailing
these luxuries of the sick-room, though it is
true that they were all there. It is easy to
present this gay side of the picture, so readily
apprehended and relished by the imagination,
and enjoyed by the sympathy of the healthy
and the happy: while it is totally impossible
to convey any sense of the suffering which
often prevented the enjoyment of such pleasures
by him for whom they were provided.
The healthy and the happy cannot know,
cannot conceive, how unavailing they often
were to the sufferer, whose whole capacity for
pleasure was overborne by the pressure of
sickness and confinement. To the inexperienced,
it sometimes seems as if it must be
a pleasant thing to be ill, when everybody is
kind and helpful, when the whole day is
holiday, the bed comfortable, the delicate
meals luxurious, the room full of flowers, and
pictures, and pleasant books. But the inexpressible,
incommunicable misery of the
nerves, the total depression of the spirits, the
terrors about anything or nothing, the haunting
ideas, the wretched sensations, are things
all unknown to the inexperienced, unless he