Don't you mind about me.
I like sitting up, and I've often had a sleep, bless you, in one of them
chairs. But if you could have seen how you tried to jump out o' winder,
and if you could have heard how you used to keep on singing and making
speeches, you wouldn't have believed it--I'm so glad you're better,
Mr. Liverer."
"Liverer, indeed!" said Dick thoughtfully. "It's well I am a liverer. I
strongly suspect I should have died, Marchioness, but for you."
At this point, Mr. Swiveller took the small servant's hand in his,
struggling to express his thanks, but she quickly changed the theme,
urging him to shut his eyes and take a little rest. Being indeed
fatigued, he needed but little urging, and fell into a slumber, from
which he waked in about half an hour, after which his small friend
helped him to sit up again.
"Marchioness," said Richard suddenly, "What has become of Kit?"
"He has been sentenced to transportation for a great many years," she
said.
"Has he gone?" asked Dick, "His mother, what has become of her?"
His nurse shook her head, and answered that she knew nothing about them.
"But if I thought," said she presently, "that you'd not put yourself
into another fever, I could tell you something--but I won't, now. Wait
till you're better, then I'll tell you."
Dick looked very earnestly at his little friend, and urged her to tell
him the worst at once.
Unable to resist his fervent adjurations, the Marchioness spoke thus:
"Well! Before I run away, I used to sleep in the kitchen.
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