A very little girl was sitting on the rug in front of a brightly burning fire. She was amusing herself with picture books, a number of which were scattered about her, but her small face was flushed, her eyes were heavy, and she seemed restless and dissatisfied. She was suffering from a very bad cold. "I can't read, and I can't see the picshures," she said complainingly, "my eyes hurts, and my head too. You read to me, Harvey." The nurse to whom she spoke was busied in putting away the breakfast things. "You must wait a bit, Miss Ella. I've got ever so many things to do this morning." Ella looked far from pleased. "Things must wait, not me," she said imperiously. "Mamma always reads to me this minute." "Your mamma's ill, Miss Ella; and when there's illness in the house there's plenty for everybody to do without wasting one's time over nonsense." Ella's face grew scarlet with anger. "'Tisn't nonsense," she said; "I'm ill too. I've got a cold, and you should amoose me." But before Harvey had time to reply, except by a short laugh, the door opened, and both the occupants of the nursery looked round to see who was there. A young girl of thirteen or fourteen, but with something in her air and manner which made her seem older, came in quickly. She was tall and slight, and though very plainly dressed, one could not have passed her by without noticing her.