“Well,” said Doctor Wyatt, the next morning, “how is Clematis today?”

“She seems a little more comfortable,” said Miss Rose.

The doctor sat by her for half an hour. He felt her pulse, and looked her all over. Then he shook his head.

That day he spent a long time studying his books.

In the evening he came again, and sat by Clematis. He shook his head, sadly.

“I must tell you, Miss Rose, that Clematis is a very sick little girl,” he said, as they stood in the hall.

“Can’t you do anything for her?” The tears sprang to her eyes.

“Perhaps I can. If she is no better tomorrow, I shall feel very anxious.”

Again that night the doctor spent a long time over his big books. Then he went and talked with doctors in the hospital.

“I shall be here most of the time tonight,” he said the next morning. “Keep her cool, and as comfortable as you can.”

Miss Rose went back to the bed with aching heart.

“Oh, if we only knew what was the matter with you, Clematis,” she thought, as she looked at the little white face.

In the evening Doctor Wyatt came back once more.

“Now, Miss Rose,” he said, “you are very tired. You must go away for a walk, or a visit, or a rest. I will take care of her tonight.”

“Don’t you think I had better stay, too?”

“No, you must rest. Please have a cup of coffee sent to me about ten. I shall stay right here. You will be needed tomorrow.”

Doctor Wyatt sat down to watch by Clematis.

It was a warm evening, so he gave her a drink, and fanned her, to cool her hot face.

As it grew late, she fell into a light sleep. As she slept, she began to talk in low tones.

The doctor bent his head down very near her lips, and listened carefully to everything she said.

Hour after hour he watched and listened, until he, too, fell asleep, just as the sun was coming up.

Miss Rose found him there in the morning, sleeping in his chair, close by the bed.

“Miss Rose,” he asked, as he started up, “did this little girl want anything very much indeed?”

“Yes, she did. She wanted to go to the country, as the other children did, but it did not seem quite possible.”

“That’s it! That’s just it!” exclaimed Doctor Wyatt. “She spoke of flowers, of lilacs and daisies. I couldn’t tell much what she said, but I could hear those words.”

At that moment, Clematis opened her eyes and stared about her.

Doctor Wyatt took one thin, frail hand in his big brown ones.

“Clematis,” he said in a loud, firm tone, “I know a lovely place in the country. If you will get well, you can go there for two whole weeks.”

Clematis stared at him, but did not seem to hear him.

“I want a drink,” she said feebly.

He put the glass to her lips.

“You can pick daisies, and goldenrod, and all sorts of flowers in the country, if you’ll just get well, can’t she, Miss Rose?”

“Yes, Clematis, you can.” Miss Rose tried to speak cheerfully, but it was hard. She wanted to cry.

Clematis stared at her also for a minute, and then turned away.

“I’ll go get some sleep now. Keep her cool and comfortable, till I come back again this evening.”

The day passed slowly. Mrs. Snow came in two or three times to look at Clematis, and feel her pulse.

Some of the other teachers came to peep in also. They went away softly, wiping their eyes.

“She is a queer little girl,” said one, “but I do love her.”

That is what they all felt.

At evening Doctor Wyatt returned. He looked anxious, as he took his seat beside the bed.

“I shall stay till about ten, Miss Rose, so you must rest now.”

“I don’t want to go,” said Miss Rose.

“You must, you will be needed later. She will need great care tonight, I think.”

At ten, Miss Rose returned. She had not rested much, and was glad to get back to the bedside.

“Here is my telephone number, Miss Rose. You can get me very soon by calling me up. Watch her carefully, and if you see any change at all, send for me at once.”

“Do you think there may be a change tonight?” Miss Rose looked straight into his face to see just what he meant.

“Yes, Miss Rose, there may be, and I hope it will be for the better.”

“You hope?” Miss Rose held her breath a minute.

“Yes, let us hope. Hope does more than all the medicine in the world.”

The minutes crept along into hours, and midnight passed, while Miss Rose watched.

Clematis seemed restless, but she did not talk to herself any more.

Miss Rose held the glass to her lips now and then, but she did not drink.

When Miss Rose wiped her face with a cold, wet cloth, she smiled a faint little smile, as if she liked it. Then the look of pain would come again, as she turned restlessly.

The clock outside struck one. How slowly the minutes went.

At last it struck two, and a breeze stirred the leaves outside.

They were the leaves of the maple Clematis had broken in the early Spring. Now they seemed to whisper softly to each other.

All else was silent.

Miss Rose had watched a long time. Many days she had been by the bed. Her eyes began to droop.

“I’ll rest my head just a minute,” she thought, and leaned back upon the chair.

Slowly the clock struck three. As the last stroke came, Miss Rose stirred, and opened her eyes.

Then she started up.

“I must have been asleep,” she said aloud. “Oh, shame on me for sleeping, when I promised to watch.”

She looked down at the bed.

Clematis lay there, peaceful and quiet. Her little hand was white and still as marble. Her face seemed very happy. All pain was gone, and a smile lay upon the pale lips.

“Oh, little Clematis. To think I should have been asleep!”

Miss Rose took out her handkerchief, and bent her head down on the bed, weeping.

A slight sound seemed to come from the pillow. Miss Rose looked up.

The child’s eyes were open wide. She was looking at her in wonder.

“He said I could go, didn’t he?” said Clematis in a faint voice.

Miss Rose choked down her sobs.

“Yes, yes, Clematis, he did, he did.”

“Well, then, what are you crying about?”

Clematis closed her eyes again and lay, still as before, with a little smile on her lips.

Miss Rose was so astonished that she sat staring at her for some minutes, until she heard a step in the hall.

It was Doctor Wyatt.

He came in softly and looked at the little figure on the bed.

He felt her pulse, and listened to her heart. Then he smiled, and led Miss Rose from the room.

“She is all right now,” he whispered. “Let her sleep as long as she can.”