“Well it’s some sort of a collapse. Now I’ll find a nice nightgown, and we’ll see what the doctor says.”
Marilla opened her eyes. They were a sort of blueish gray, but now very heavy and dull. Her lips moved, but the tone was very 64 low. It sounded as if she said “fairy godmother” and Miss Armitage smiled.
“Oh, poor little thing!”
Dr. Richards flew around in his auto.
“Oh, I thought something had happened to you,” he began.
“It has,” and she detailed the simple story.
He followed her up to the room. It was such a lovely, restful room. A white bed in the alcove, white window drapery, a carpet with considerable light blue in it, a dressing case, a writing desk, some books and pictures, mostly Madonnas.
“Poor child,” he said. “She’s been worked too hard. All her strength seems gone. And a case of heat prostration. It’s been an awful day. Who is she?”
Miss Armitage told over the incident. “I have seen her sitting there several times. It is shady in the afternoon.”
“Two fat babies,” and he laughed. “I should think one would be enough for such a child to manage. Overwork and underfeeding I think, and the heat. I’ll see if I can rouse her.”