She wants you to take her. Ah! she mustn't be touched. Poor Baby Bud!'

Edmund could hardly bear it. He stooped over her and kissed her, and was turning away, when he heard a little feeble voice-'Eddy!'

It brought him back to her side in a moment. And from that time, in his play-hours, he was hardly ever to be got out of his mother's room, where the precious little one lay night and day, in a small bed close to her mother's. He would sit by her, singing nursery rhymes, and showing her pictures, thinking himself well rewarded with one little laugh or smile now and then. His first thought in the morning was Baby Bud, and she always looked for Eddy after breakfast, with the pretty flowers which he daily brought for her from the garden. At night she could not go to sleep without Eddy to sing to her and soothe her. It was' Eddy!' 'Eddy!' all day long from the small weak voice, and when he was by her, the poor little White Violet seemed most to forget her pain.

It was a great comfort to him, who had so unwittingly been the cause of her sufferings. He never seemed able to forget that, and his whole heart poured itself out in one great love for the poor little maimed life. After a time she was taken out to lie in the garden on a sofa, and it was always Eddy who was to carry her there. He it was who found the fir-cones and horse-chestnuts for her to play with,

and brought her the first wild strawberries and blackberries. His pocket-money was always now saved up to buy something new for Baby Bud, and the one thought of his life seemed to be how he should make hers happy.

For many months poor Baby Bud lay on her back in pain. It was a weary life for a young child, and some little people that I know would have been very fretful and complaining about it. But from the first our sweet White Violet, infant though she was, took up her cross meekly. It was lovely to see her patience and gentleness, which grew with her growth. It was even surprising in such a tiny child. But there was One who helped her, no doubt-He who took the little children in His arms once, who feels for every pain and trouble of the least of His little ones. And when Violet was old enough to understand this, and to be told about that kind, good, unseen Father of hers, she was glad to bear what He had laid upon her.

There was nothing she liked so much as to be read to, and to be told stories. How Edmund racked his brain to think of something new and funny to amuse Baby Bud! Mamma said he was a walking story-box. Baby Bud liked best of all the winter evenings, when her little couch was drawn by the fire in the schoolroom, while papa and mamma were at dinner. Mary and Mildred, and Punny and Ferky, and Jessie,

Then

and Alice on Edmund's knee, sat round the fire on low stools, close to dear Baby Bud, and listened to Edmund's wonderful 'make-ups,' as they called them. It was so nice and cosy, and Edmund did invent such funny things! I can't help thinking that this long practice of making-up stories for Baby Bud's enjoyment helped him to become the famous writer that he is now. Punny and Ferky were the two little brothers between Baby Bud and Alice. Their real names were Bernard and Percival. They were the most mischievous sprites, and great disturbers of the peace at story-telling time, as they could not sit still for two minutes without pinching and twitching and sparring with each other, and were continually tumbling off their stools, or upsetting the fire-irons, just at the most interesting parts of the story, so that sometimes there was a general outcry from the little girls

Punny and Ferky, you horrid boys! It's too bad! Do put them out, Edmund!'

And then Edmund would look very fierce, and make a sudden pounce upon the offenders, and threaten to lock them out, on which Punny and Ferky, with comical faces, would cry

'We won't do it any more!'-adding privately, 'till next time!'

Punny and Ferky and Alice belonged properly to the nursery, but they were allowed to come into

the schoolroom, after the schoolroom tea was over, to see Baby Bud, who was always carried there at tea-time, from mamma's sitting-room, where she spent most of the day, as she was getting stronger. She did get stronger when she was about five years old, but she had still to lie down for many hours a day; and sad to say, in spite of all the care that was taken, her little back was bowed out from the effects of her fall, and a hump began to grow there.

'How dreadful!' I fancy I hear some little girl say; 'wasn't she very miserable?'

But the dear little patient Violet only said meekly, 'GOD lets it come!'

CHAPTER III.

BABY BUD'S BIRTH-DAY.

HE sun shone brightly on a lovely morning in June. The lawn looked so green and fresh, all covered with sparkling dewdrops. The morning glory, twining in and out of the rustic trellis-work of the summer-house, had just opened its beautiful many-coloured cups.

But what are all the children so busy about in the summer-house at this time in the morning? They have not had breakfast yet. And why are they making those long wreaths of flowers, and ranging them all round the inside? And what are all those parcels, large and small, done up so neatly, which are piled on the rough table in the middle? There is some wonderful secret going on, surely!

·

Here's the pen and ink, Edmund,' cried Mary, scampering in. I was so afraid Ellen wouldn't let me take it.—O dear!' in a voice of horror, 'I've inked my frock! What will nurse say?'