cause Collins had snubbed her, because she was conscious of feeling all wrong, because she so longed to be someone quite real, instead of just Stephen pretending to be Nelson. In a quick fit of anger she would go to the cupboard, and getting out her dolls would begin to torment them. She had always despised the idiotic creatures which, however, arrived with each Christmas and birthday.
'I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!' she would mutter, thumping their innocuous faces.
But one day, when Collins had been crosser than usual, she seemed to be filled with a sudden contrition. 'It's me housemaid's knee,' she confided to Stephen. 'It's not you, it's me housemaid's knee, dearie.'
'Is that dangerous?' demanded the child, looking frightened.
Then Collins, true to her class, said: 'It may be—it may mean an 'orrible operation, and I don't want no operation.'
'What's that?' inquired Stephen.
'Why, they'd cut me,' moaned Collins; 'they'd 'ave to cut me to let out the water.'
'Oh, Collins! What water?'
'The water in me kneecap—you can see if you press it, Miss Stephen.'
They were standing alone in the spacious night-nursery, where Collins was limply making the bed. It was one of those rare and delicious occasions when Stephen could converse with her goddess undisturbed, for the nurse had gone out to post a letter. Collins rolled down a coarse woollen stocking and displayed the afflicted member; it was blotchy and swollen and far from attractive, but Stephen’s eyes filled with quick, anxious tears as she touched the knee with her finger.
'There now!' exclaimed Collins. 'See that dent? That's the water!' And she added: 'It's so painful it fair makes me sick. It all comes from polishing them floors, Miss Stephen; I didn't ought to polish them floors.'
Stephen said gravely: 'I do wish I'd got it—I wish I'd got your housemaid's knee, Collins, 'cause that way I could bear it instead of you. I'd like to be awfully hurt for you, Collins, the way Jesus was hurt for sinners. Suppose I pray hard, don't you think I might catch it? Or supposing I rub my knee against yours?'
'Lord bless you!' laughed Collins, 'it's not like the measles; no. Miss Stephen, it’s caught from them floors.'
That evening Stephen became rather pensive, and she turned to the Child’s Book of Scripture Stories and she studied the picture of the Lord
