"Yes, I can't get over to the king row;" and she smiled. "But you just wait until to-morrow, when I'm bright and fresh."
So Norry put her to bed, and, leaving grandad to read the Gazette, she ran over to see how it fared with Barbe, and did not come home until morning. Grandad had a nice fire, and had made the coffee.
"Oh, dear," began Daffodil, coming out in her trained nightgown, as they made garments for children to grow in, in those days, "isn't it funny? When I woke up I couldn't think where I was, and it came into my mind about little Bridget, that fairies took away for seven years. Then I would be fourteen."
"That's some of Norry's nonsense. Get on your clothes, and come and have these grand griddle cakes and sausage, that'll make you sing in your sleep."
"Why not when I am awake?" with laughing eyes.
"Anybody can do that. But it takes something extra good to make you sing in your sleep."
She thought they were quite good enough, and wondered how it would seem to sing in the night, and the dark, and if she could hear herself.
Then her father came after her. Grandad wrung his hand and said, "Lad, I wish you joy and the best of luck."
What did that mean?
"Daffodil, something wonderful has happened to us, and I hope—you will like it. We are very happy over it. We have a little boy who came in the night. A little brother for you. And we want you to be glad."