TTHE next morning, when Bessie woke up, it was very quiet in the nursery. She lay still a moment, wondering what it was that had troubled her last night; and just as she remembered about the baby, she heard a little discontented sound at her side. She turned her head and looked around, and there sat Maggie on the floor beside the trundle-bed, with one sock and one shoe on, and the other shoe in her hand. She looked rather cross.

"Maggie," said Bessie, "has the baby gone to heaven?"

"No," said Maggie, "and I don't believe she's going just yet. Our own doctor came in the night, and she's a great deal better; and now she's fast asleep."

"And don't you feel glad then?"

"Oh, yes! I am real glad of that," said Maggie.

"Then why don't you look glad? What is the matter?"

"I can't find my clo'," said Maggie, in a fretful tone.

"What clo'?"

"Why, my sock."

"Why don't nurse or Jane find it for you?" asked Bessie.

"I can't wait," said Maggie; "I want it now; nurse is holding baby because mamma has gone to sleep too, and Jane has taken Franky to Harry's room to dress him, because she was afraid he would make a noise; and she said if I put on my shoes and socks, and all the rest of my under-clo's before she came back, I might put on yours, if you waked up. And that's a great 'sponsibility, Bessie; and I want to do it, and now I can't."

"Look some more," said Bessie, who was very well pleased at the thought of having her sister dress her.

"I have looked all over," said Maggie. "I just expect a robber came in the night and stole it."

"Why, it would not fit him!" said Bessie.

"Well, I guess he has a bad little robber girl of his own that he has taken it to," said Maggie. "Anyhow, she'll be bare one foot, and I'm glad of it."

Bessie sat up in the bed and looked around the room. "I see a pair of clean socks over there on your petticoats," she said.

"So there is," said Maggie; and quite good-natured again, she began to dress as fast as she could.

"Maggie," said Bessie, as she lay down again to wait till her sister was ready, "what was the name of that word you said?"

"What,—'sponsibility?"

"Yes, that's it; say it again."

"Spons-er-bil-er-ty," said Maggie, slowly.

"Oh!" said Bessie, with a long breath, as if that word was almost too much for her, "what does it mean?"

"It means something to do or to take care of."

"Then when mamma put baby on the bed the other day, and told me to take care of her, was that a great spons-er-bil-er-ty?"

"Yes," said Maggie.

"It's a nice word; isn't it, Maggie?"

"Yes, but it is not so nice as happy circumstance."

"Oh, that is very nice? What does that mean, Maggie?"

"It means something very nice and pleasant. I'm going to say happy circumstance to some one to-day, if I get a chance."

"Whom are you going to say it to?"

"I don't know yet; but I shall not say it to the boys, for they laugh at us when we say grown-up words. You may say it, Bessie, if you want to."

"Oh, no," said Bessie, "I would not say your new words before you say them yourself; that would not be fair, and I would not do it for a hundred dollars."

"Well," said Maggie, "I would not let any one else do it, but you may say any of my words you want to, Bessie."

While they were talking away, Maggie was putting on her clothes, and then Bessie got up; and by the time Jane came back, Maggie had nearly dressed her sister too. Jane called Maggie a good, helpful little girl, which pleased her very much, for she liked praise.

After breakfast, as the children were standing on the porch waiting for Jane to take them for their walk, Harry came along and told them, if they would come out to the barn, he would give them a swing. They never said no to the offer of a swing, and, much pleased, followed him to the barn, where they found Mr. Jones sitting outside of the door mending his nets. He took down the swing for them, lifted Bessie in, and then went back to his work. Maggie had said that Bessie should take her turn first, and that, while Harry was swinging her, she would go out and talk to Mr. Jones. They were very good friends now, and Maggie was not at all afraid of him, but sat watching him with great interest as he filled up the broken places in his nets.

"Well, and so the little sister is better this morning?" said Mr. Jones.

"Yes," said Maggie; "and we are very much obliged to you, Mr. Jones."

"What for?" asked Jones.

"Because you went so quick to send for our own doctor."

"Deary me, that wasn't nothing," said Mr. Jones. "I'd ha' been a heathen if I hadn't."

Maggie stood silent for a few moments, watching him, and then said, slowly, but very earnestly, "Mr. Jones, do you think Mrs. Jones is a very happy circumstance?"

Mr. Jones looked at her for a moment as if he did not quite understand her, and then he smiled as he said, "Well, yes, I reckon I do; don't you?"

"No, I don't," said Maggie. "What did make you marry her, Mr. Jones?"

"Because I thought she would make me a good wife."

"And does she?"

"First-rate; don't you think she does?"

"I don't know," said Maggie, "I don't like her very much; I like you a great deal better than I do her; I think you are a very nice man, Mr. Jones."

"I guess I'm about of the same opinion about you," said Mr. Jones; "but what is the reason you don't like Mrs. Jones?"

"Oh," said Maggie, "because she—she—does things. She makes me just as mad as a hop."

"What things?"

"She goes and has trundle-beds," said Maggie.

Mr. Jones laughed out now as he said, "Oh, you haven't got over that trouble yet, eh? Well, what else does she do?"

"She said we could spare our baby, and we couldn't," said Maggie, angrily; "and she didn't want you to go send the message for our own doctor. I think she ought to be ashamed."

"She didn't mean it," said Mr. Jones, coaxingly.

"People ought not to say things they don't mean," said Maggie.

"No more they oughtn't, but yet you see they do sometimes."

"And she said mamma took on," said Maggie, "and mamma would not do such a thing; mamma is a lady, and ladies do not take on."

This seemed to amuse Mr. Jones more than anything else, and he laughed so loud and so long that Mrs. Jones came out to the kitchen door. "Sam'l," she called, "what are you making all that noise about?"

"Oh, don't tell her!" said Maggie; while Mr. Jones laughed harder than ever, and she saw that Mrs. Jones was coming towards them.

"Don't you be afraid," said Mr. Jones, "I aint goin' to tell her."

"Now aint you just ashamed of yourself, Sam'l," said Mrs. Jones as she came up, "to be making all that hee-hawing, and poor Miss Bradford and that little sick lamb lying asleep? Do you want to wake 'em up? Is he laughing at you, Maggie?"

Maggie hung her head, and looked as if she would like to run away.

"I s'pose he's just tickled to death about some of your long words, that he thinks so funny," said Mrs. Jones. "It does not take much to set him going. Never you mind him, come along with me to the kitchen, and see the nice ginger cakes I am makin' for your supper. I'll make you and Bessie a gingerbread man apiece. Such good children you was yesterday, keeping so quiet when the baby was sick, and trying to help yourselves when your poor 'ma and your nurse was busy. If it had been them young ones that was here last summer, they'd have kept the house in a riot from night till morning when they was left to themselves. Jane was tellin' me how nicely you dressed yourself and Bessie this morning. Now, Sam'l, you stop bein' such a goose."

Poor Maggie did not know which way to look. Here was Mrs. Jones, whom she had just been saying she did not like, praising and petting her and promising gingerbread men; and oh, Mr. Jones was laughing so! He was not laughing out loud now, but he was shaking all over, and when Maggie peeped at him from under her eyelashes, he twinkled his eyes at her, as much as to say, "Now, what do you think of her?" Right glad was she when Harry called her to take her turn at the swing, and she could run away out of sight of Mr. and Mrs. Jones.

In a few days the dear baby was quite well and bright again, while her little sisters thought they loved her more than ever, now that she had been spared to them when they had so much feared they were to lose her.