“I don’t know whatever is the matter with my little love,” said the old man, in a low and trembling voice; “she fell down all of a sudden, and I thought she was dead, Tony; but she’s coming round again now.  Isn’t my little love better now?”

“Yes, gan-pa, yes; Dolly’s better,” she answered faintly.

“Let me hold her, master,” said Tony, his heart beating fast; “I can hold her stronger and more comfortable, maybe, than you.  You’re tired ever so, and you’d better get yourself a bit of dinner.  Shall Tony nurse you now, Dolly?”

The little girl raised her arms to him, and Tony took her gently into his own, sitting down upon the old box in the chimney-corner, and putting her to nestle comfortably against him.  Dolly closed her eyes again, and by-and-bye he knew that she had fallen into a light sleep, while old Oliver moved noiselessly to and fro, only now and then saying half aloud, in a tone of strange earnestness and entreaty, “Lord! dear Lord!”

After awhile the old man came and bent over them both, taking Dolly’s arm softly between his withered fingers, and looking down at it with a shaking head.

“She’s very thin, Tony; look at this little arm,” he said, “wasting away! wasting away!  I’ve watched all my little ones waste away except my poor Susan.  Couldn’t there anything be done to save her?”

“Ay!” answered Tony, in an energetic whisper, while he clasped Dolly a little tighter in his arms; “ay! they could cure her easily at the hospital.  Bless yer! there were little ’uns ten times worse than her as they sent home cured.  Let us take her there as soon as ever she wakes up, and she’ll be quite well directly, I promise you.  The doctor knows me, and I’ll speak to Mr. Ross for her.  Do you get a bit of dinner, and hearten yourself up for it; and we’ll set off as soon as she’s awake.”

Old Oliver turned away comforted, and prepared his own and Tony’s dinner, and put a mince-pie into the oven to be ready to tempt Dolly’s appetite when she awoke.  But she slept heavily all the afternoon till it was almost dark outside, and the lamps were being lit, when she awoke, restless and feverish.

“Would Dolly like to go to that nice place, where the little girls had the dolls and the music?” asked Tony, in a quavering voice which he could scarcely keep from sobs; “the good place where Tony got well again, and they gave him his new clothes?  Everybody ’ud be so wery kind to poor little Dolly, and she’d come home again, quite cured and strong, like Tony was.”

“Yes, yes!” cried Dolly, eagerly, raising herself up in his arms; “it’s a nice place, and the sun shines, and Dolly ’ud like to go.  Only she’ll be sure to come back to gan-pa.”

It was some time yet before they were quite ready to start, though Dolly could not be coaxed to eat the hot mince-pie, or anything else.  Old Oliver had to get himself into his drab overcoat, and the ailing child had to be protected in the best way they could against the searching wind.  After they had put on all her own warmest clothing, Tony wrapped his own thick blue jacket about her, and lifting her very tenderly in his arms, they turned out into the streets, closely followed by Beppo.