"Fetch the doctor. Go on your bicycle. Nurse, come with me."
Diana watched the limp, unconscious form of her small brother being carried upstairs. Mrs. Tubbs followed Nurse; Cassy put her apron up to her eyes and began to cry.
"Oh, Miss Diana, 'tis his birthday; what an end to it!"
Diana seemed turned to stone.
How and why did these things happen? They were all so happy a few minutes ago, and now Noel was perhaps dead and would never speak or laugh again.
She went slowly into the dining-room. The tea was all laid upon the table, the silver kettle boiling over the methylated lamp. They would have all been sitting round the table now, mother would be pouring out the tea, Noel's cake would have delighted him. It was a surprise—made by Mrs. Tubbs, who had put her very best work into it. It was a big iced cake, and had seven candles upon it. In the centre was a tiny little Christmas tree—a copy of Noel's. Its leaves and branches were frosted with sugar and a robin perched on the topmost branch. In pink letters on the white surface was written:
"Noel Inglefield. Happy Returns of his Birthday,
and best Christmas Wishes."
As Diana gazed at the cake, tears crowded into her eyes.
Noel's cake! And he might never see it!
There were crackers round the table. What fun they would have had! There were jam sandwiches and sugarcoated biscuits, and coco-nut cakes and shortbread.