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“But, my little love, the doctor says you must lie still.”

“He don’t know. You didn’t tell him ’bout my fire-crackers. Got a million of ’em; must fire ’em off! I don’t like Dr. Field, with his great black eye-bushes. And it’s Fourf of July too!”

Presently there was another wail. Pollio had thought of the fireworks which were to go up that evening from the top of Tower Hill.

“Great red rockets just like stars! O mamma! Posy’ll go, and Teddy’ll go. I must put my clo’es on and get up.”

Nunky whispered to mamma that she might as well let the child try to sit up, as he probably could not do it.

Nunky was right. The moment Pollio was raised in bed, his head felt very strangely. He thought the clock and pictures began to dance, while the bed spun round like a top.

Mamma laid his head back on the pillow, and sponged his face with cold water; and then the room and the things in it stood still, and he felt better.

Nunky was not at all surprised to see him so weak, but it grieved his mother. He did not ask again to sit up, but lay twisting his fingers, and thinking what a long day it was.

“Oh, dear! what made God make me, mamma? I’m tired of being made.”

Pollio knew just as well as you do that he had been a naughty boy, and that he was suffering for it. He disliked himself exceedingly; and I think that was one reason he was so cross, and begged his aunt Ann to go away.

“Aren’t you willing mamma should leave you a while, and lie down?” asked Nunky, who saw that she looked pale.

“Yes, I guess so, if you’ll play ‘The Shepherd’s Pipe,’” replied Pollio, scowling; for he could not bear to look pleasant a moment.

When he had made Nunky play “The Shepherd’s Pipe” till he was quite out of breath, Pollio said, “Fank you,” and pulled a lock of front-hair without raising his head from the pillow.

Nunky smiled to see, that, sick and cross as he was, he did not forget his manners.

“Well, my little general, is there any thing else I can do for you?”

“You may show me some o’ your pictures.”

Nunky brought two landscapes from his studio. One was a brook half hidden by bushes, and so natural that you could almost see the leaves and grass flutter, and the water slip bubbling over the stones.

“Rocky Brook!” cried Pollio, clapping his hands.

He had “tagged” Dick to that brook many a time when Dick went trouting.

“Wish I could dip my feet right in there!” sighed he. “Oh, please give me a drink o’ water!”

Somehow the picture made him thirsty. The next one was of Yellowstone Falls, which came tumbling down so fast you could almost hear them rumble.

“Oh, splendid!” exclaimed Pollio. “Can’t I have some cream beer?”

For the falls reminded him of something foamy to drink. Nunky kindly brought him some sarsaparilla-mead, wondering what would be wanted next.

“More pictures, Nunky: I mean, please!”

Nunky brought another beautiful painting, which he placed against the foot-board of the bed.

“Oh! Jesus talking to the woman. Isn’t it splendid? Did he always look so sober, Nunky?”

“No, I presume not.”

“Well, I don’t fink he did, ’cept when little children were naughty, or Jerusalem got out of order,” remarked Pollio, glancing at an engraving on the wall called “Christ weeping over Jerusalem.” Of course Jerusalem must have “got out of order,” or he would not have wept over it.

Pollio moved his head on the pillow uneasily. He remembered that he, too, had “got out of order;” and he did not like to look at that beautiful, sad face at the foot of the bed, for it seemed to know and feel sorry he had been so naughty.