"Two dollars a visit!" cried Dot in dismay, forgetting entirely that she had come to look for a spool of No. 40 in Mamma's drawer, and opening her brown eyes wider and wider as she read the heading of an old bill of Dr. Cogswell's.

"Two dollars a visit!" she repeated. "Oh, why does n't Donnie get well? And where is all the money to come from?" she asked herself, sadly. "We will get very poor," continued Dot, shaking her little brown head slowly over the bill. After thinking awhile, she slipped the paper in her pocket and went down-stairs.

Mamma and Sister Margie were sewing. Dot went quietly to Mrs. Ledyard and whispered: "We'll feel very poor afterward, wont we, Mamma?"

Mamma smiled.

A sad smile, Dot thought, as she replied: "You 're better at guessing than we supposed. Now, why don't you take your trimming, little daughter, and go into the library? There's a nice fire on the hearth, and you can work away like a bee. We'll need it soon, you know," added Mamma, for Dot was rather inclined to dream when she was alone.

"We'll need it soon," repeated Dot, as she climbed up in the big library chair. "We 'll need it soon. Oh, why did n't they tell me! Why did they leave me to find it out for myself? I might have worked yards and yards by this time, and sold them for ever so much, but I supposed it was just to give me something to do, and I 've sometimes not done more than one scallop in a whole

afternoon," confessed Dot, as she made her little ivory needle fly in and out of her work, as if any one could ever make up for time wasted.

"And to think I never once thought that Mamma and Sister Margie were making those things to sell, nor how much 't was costing to have the doctor coming every day, and sometimes twice a day. Poor Donnie! Perhaps he 's worse than they tell me. Perhaps," and there was a great lump in her throat, "he 's going to die, and they are leaving me to find that out." Two great tears rolled slowly down the pretty, round cheeks. "But why, then, do they keep a-tellin' me he 's better?" The tears had dropped on the crochet trimming, and two more were following in their train.

Tom went into the barn to clean his gun. Dot saw him.

"I'll ask him," she decided, as she put her work hurriedly in a little silk handkerchief, and started with it for the barn. "He wont tease me when he knows how badly I feel."

It was a very sad little face that peered in at the barn-door.

"Halloo!" was Tom's greeting. "Been crying?" "Yes," admitted Dot, in a voice that could leave no doubt of it in any one's mind. "What's up? continued Tom, as he rubbed away at his gun. "Want any help?" "Oh, yes, Tom; that 's just what I've come for. Wont you talk real sober with me?" "Nary a smile from me," said Tom. Then,