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"I've been ill," he said, "quite ill with fever, though I tried to keep it from Nelly. I'm so uncommonly well tonight," he went on, "that I begin to hope I may really get up soon. At one time I thought I was dying. What would my poor little child do alone in the world?"

"I make bold to say, sir, if you'd excuse me, that I'd never see her suffer," says I, "no more nor if she was my own sister."

"My poor boy," he said, with a grieved kind of look, "what could you do?"

"I'm my own fambly," says I, quite firm, "and I can work for two."

"God bless you," said he, with such a smile.

"However," and there he heaved, a great sigh, "I'm better, thank Heaven! and I've had a bit of encouragment to-day; at last, perhaps, I shall get my rights." Just then up comes Nelly with the toast, which she had placed beautiful on one of the wrong saucers and a bit of tea in one of the wrong cups, and he looked at her with such loving eyes; and she put up her pretty lips and kissed him so sweet!

So he put the things on a chair by the bedside, and Nelly and me set down to the fire. She had a little box of dominos -- common things they was -- and she asked her papa if she should play, and he said, "Yes, my dear," with such a smile. So we played, she looking bright and laughing, an' turning round every few moments to see him a lookin' and smiling, straight at us, till by-and-by she said,

"Papa's fast asleep; isn't it nice?"

I looked round too. Yes, the dear old gentleman had fallen asleep, and the fire-light played over his face, which seemed so peaceful and happy that I hadn't a doubt that moment but every thing in the world was going on delightful, in particular me and Nelly, who did have a wonderful hand at doubles, to be sure.

"Isn't it still here?" asked Nelly, presently, when we'd got tired, and sat looking at the fire. "Do you like to have it so still?"

"Sometimes," I said. "How the shadows do dance, don't they?" The shadows did dance, for the candle was almost out.

Says I, "I must be going."

"But you'll come again to-morrow," she says. "Papa'll be up then, he said he should; -- and -- and -- oh! isn't it still here?"

We both of us looked round slow like to the bed. The old gentleman slept on, but his head seemed to have fell curious. And then we both looked at each other, and little Nelly began to grow pale, and seemed all eyes.

"He's asleep, isn't he?" she asked, and her voice trembled.

"Of course," I said.

You -- you'd better say good-night; he won't mind -- he never does mind being spoke to in his sleep," she said, and her voice trembled more than ever.

I went up, but it was like logs being dragged along of my feet, they were that heavy; and Nelly, she never stirred, poor child. I went up and I stooped down, and -- and I looked round to Nelly. She saw something in my face, threw up her arms, and screamed "papa!" in such a voice which never may I hear again; and there she was on the bed, her arms round his poor neck, and he never knowing of it.

Well, that were a dreadful night, which I never likes to talk of. Poor gentleman! he must a died happy. And as for Nelly -- why I take care of her. We has that same room, and Mrs. McCumsty gives her a lodging for what little she can do for her; but I take care of her. She never goes in rags, Nelly don't, but neat and tidy, and keeps out of the streets, and I'm making money, I am. Nelly may be heard of sometimes, by some of her relations, for she's bound to be a lady; how it'll come about, I don't know, but it will come. "Matches! Buy any matches?"

"Hey-day! What's this, tears?" cried Uncle Ralph, looking up, and seeing sundry suspicious movements. "Come, come, let's forget the poor old man, and hope that little Nelly, became a lady, that is, a good, true woman. Hear the kettle sing! I move that somebody sets the table."

Presently all the little girls were busy with the bread and butter, the cake and cream, and Tilly was rolled up to the table, to officiate, or rather to pour the first cups out, in honor to her guests. I leave you to conjecture what a merry time they had, and how much all enjoyed it. For the picnic, look out for the next volume of Anne's Saturday Afternoons.

THE END.