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Various

"The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 18, No. 110, December, 1866 A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics"

I was as tired as
a dog,--no, as a whole pack of Esquimaux dogs,--and, instead of lying
awake and saying to myself, every time I turned over, 'What in this wide
world am I ever going to do with that poor little Nelly Fader?' I only
repeated, whenever I came to myself a little, 'Nelly Bligh shuts her eye
when she goes to sleep'; and then I followed her example."
"I only wish," said I, "that there was any good office beside that I
could do you."
"Well, now I think of it, there is one that I should be very much
obliged to you to do, to me and Nelly Fader besides. I've got to hurry
off in the direction opposite to her Uncle Wardour's; and you talked of
walking. Take this paper. Empty it into a wine-bottle. Fill it up with
spring-water. Cork it. Gum these directions on it. Take them to Nelly.
Read them to her, and make her understand them if you can, and follow
them, which I can't. I happen to have a better sample of the drug than
is often in the market; and she may as well have the benefit of it. Her
aunt's a goose, and she's a baby. But, as she's likely to be a suffering
baby for some time to come, we must try to have patience, and take extra
pains with her."
"Is she going to die?" asked I, anxiously.
"No, no! I've no idea she is.


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