That flower was given me by a fairy to
make me remember my promises to you, my poor, dear, dead mamma; and so
long as I water that every day at the same hour, so long I shall be
growing better and better, and my poor dear mamma,--boo-hoo! boo-hoo!"
and the little thing began to cry as if she would break her heart.
"Why, this is stranger than all," said the father. "I can't help
thinking the poor child would be rational enough now, if she hadn't read
so many fairy-books; but what a mercy it was, my dear Sarah, and how
shall we ever be thankful enough, that you happened to be down there
when she fell into the water."
"Ah!" Ruth Page began to hold her breath, and listen with the strangest
feeling.
"Yes, Robert; but I declare to you, I am frightened whenever I think of
the risk I ran by letting her fall in, head first, as I did."
Poor Ruth began to lift her head, and to feel about, and pinch herself
to see if she was really awake.
"And then, too, just think of this terrible fever, and the strange, wild
poetry she has been talking, day after day, about Fairy-land."
"Poetry! Fudge, Robert, fudge!"
Ruth looked up, full of amazement and joy, and whispered, "Fudge, father,
fudge!" and the very next words that fell from her trembling lips as she
sat looking at her mother, and pointing at a little bunch of
forget-me-nots in full flower, that her mother had kept for her in a
glass by the window, were these, "O mother! dearest mother! what a
terrible dream I have had!"
"Hush, my love, hush! and go to sleep, and we will talk this matter over
when you are able to bear it.
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