"I declare, Tom," said she, "you are useful in a household located near the water, as a Newfoundland dog."
"Oh, I can't laugh," cried Tom.
"But you must!" said the wilful creature. "You will not put on long faces because I am saved, I suppose?"
"Elsie," said her brother, "you ought to sleep awhile; Tom and I will go out."
"No, no," she persisted, "I am not in the least sleepy—you must not go away—I shall only get nervous if you leave me alone; I shall be quite well by dinner-time. Tom Fuller, don't go!"
They did not oppose her; every one there knew that it was of no use, for in the end they would surely yield to her caprices.
"I haven't thanked you yet, Tom," she said.
"I don't know what there is to thank me for."
"Indeed!" said Elsie; "so you don't think my life of enough importance to have the saving of it a matter of consequence?"
"You know that wasn't what I meant," said Tom, rubbing his damp hair with one hand.