44 CHAPTER III. He stayeth His rough wind in the day "If loving hearts were never lonely, S the bleak, cold, often stormy, days of Feb ruary glided silently into the bright afternoons and lengthening daylight of March, Katie continued still a close prisoner to her little bed. It had been removed, however, into her mother's room, both on account of its greater size and comfort as a sick-room, and of the cheerfulness of its open fire, which, though not absolutely needed for warmth in ordinary weather, was a source of great enlivenment to Katie in the long evenings, as she lay and watched the flickering blaze, or the wavering shadows which it cast in the winter dusk, before the lamp was lighted. Her mother did all in her power to lighten the tedium of her imprisonment, sitting almost constantly beside her, reading to her as long as her own strength would Her permit, and telling her every bit of news she could pick up in which she thought Katie would be interested. father, too, was much kinder than Katie had ever known him. He was not nearly so often out at nights "on business" now, and would frequently spend the whole evening in the room, reading aloud anything interesting from the weekly paper, which came by mail from the nearest large city, or chatting with his wife in a quiet, kind way, as Katie scarcely remembered his ever doing before. And she noticed, too, that her mamma's smile came oftener, her brow looked much less anxious and careworn than it generally did, and, notwithstanding her confinement to the sick-room, her health seemed better than it had been for a long time. As for Martha, no domestic could have been kinder or more assiduous. She would have interrupted her work at any moment to be with Katie when her mother was called away, and it was the chief pleasure of her life to invent some new delicacy which might tempt the little girl's feeble appetite. But notwithstanding all that home love and tenderness could do, it was a sad, dreary time for poor Katie, even now, when the first acute suffering was over, and the sense of discomfort was her chief physical ailment. The long monotonous days, that seemed so like one another as they passed slowly by, weighed heavily on a spirit naturally so active and full of life, and which had not as yet much resource within itself. As she lay through the tedious, slow-moving hours of daylight, studying over and over again the pattern of the paper on the walls, tracing out the lights and shadows of the two or three familiar prints in their black frames, or counting the cracks in the somewhat dingy ceiling, she found herself going over and over again the daily scenes of her ordinary life,-the recitations in Miss Fleming's schoolroom, the tiresome conjugations, even the dates which had been such a burden to her mind. Then she would wonder how the contest for the prize was going on, and whether Clara Winstanley still maintained her position in advance of the rest. As for the prize itself, it seemed something so far removed from her now, that she wondered almost how it could ever have excited her so keenly. Then she would go back in imagination to that day when she was last out,-see the snowy village street, the passing sleighs, the shouting boys,-and then with a sharp pang would come up the image of poor Jet. Poor, merry, frolicsome, little dog! What a pleasure and amusement he would have been to her now in her enforced seclusion! And the tears would come yet, as she thought of his active little figure, lying cold and rigid under the snow that lay piled so high on "the common." For Dr Elliott had ended her suspense, perhaps even her lurking hope, by telling her Jim's disclosure. One sunshiny morning, when the familiar ring announced the doctor's arrival, Katie, as she lay listening for his step, was surprised to hear the pattering of little feet, and the silvery tones of a childish voice accompanying it. In walked the doctor, leading a rosy, blue-eyed boy of three years old, with flaxen curls and a face full of dimples, carrying in one hand a little basket, the lid of which he was trying to keep down with all the force of the other, in opposition to some small resistance from within. "There! you didn't think I had such a pretty boy, did you?" said the doctor, triumphantly, as he lifted up the little fellow and set him on the bed. Katie thought she had never seen anything so bright and sunny, and her eyes rested longingly on the little round face,-the blue eyes almost closed by reason of a roguish smile which overspread it. "Show Katie what you've brought her," said his father. The little fat hand was withdrawn from the lid of the basket, and out jumped a pretty little Maltese kitten, nearly as round as a ball, with a silky gray coat and snowy breast. "Him's Willie's-him's for 'oo!" said the gleeful little voice, as his eyes kept watching Katie's face to see the effect of the important communication. “And Willie has been waiting a whole fortnight, till the little thing was old enough to leave its mother, that he might bring it to the little girl who lost her dog," added his papa, smiling. The kitten was duly admired and petted? but the bright little face had a greater attraction for Katie and at her earnest request Willie was left, much to his own satisfaction, to spend the morning with her and his kitten, improving the time in showing off, as well as his imperfect language would allow him, the perfections of his gift, and in enjoying the good things which Mrs Johnstone pressed upon him. When at last, rather reluctantly on his part, he was taken away, it was with the promise that he should come back again. Katie and he soon became close friends, and few things gave either of them greater pleasure than to spend the day together; while "Daisy"-for so the kitten was called-became an almost equally great pet, beguiling many an otherwise tedious hour with her merry frolics, and calling forth occasionally Katie's hearty laugh, which had now become an unwonted sound. Indeed, Daisy, with her gentle, playful tricks, and her necktie of pink ribbon, was fast filling up the blank which poor Jet's loss had left. Not a few kind hearts in the village had been touched by Katie's misfortune. A good many who had been merely casual acquaintances of Mrs Johnstone's,-for from her shyness and desire to conceal the great trouble of her life, she had scarcely any intimates,-had come to inquire for Katie, and make many kind offers of assistance, which, however, Mrs Johnstone had gratefully declined. Mrs Winstanley had called the morning after the accident, distressed at having been in any way the cause of it, and anxious to do anything and everything in her power for the invalid. But Mrs Johnstone could not get over the feeling of bitterness which rose in her heart against the family, unreasonable though she knew it to be, and she received the kindly-intended offers very coldly, - the more so, perhaps, from the patronising air with which they were accompanied, an air which had become so habitual with the lady who considered herself the leader of society in Lynford, that she could not perhaps have shaken it off, However, she was really kind-hearted, and not discouraged by the coldness with which her advances had been received; she sent every day to inquire for Katie, generally accompanying the inquiries with some tempting delicacy, which, after the first few days, Katie really enjoyed; and her |