Jack arose and walked about the room. The idea of his darling sickening herself to provide smoke for Aunt Mary braced him afresh to the conflict.
“What do you do all day?” he asked, presently.
“Well, we do most everythin’. When Lucinda’s out she does Lucinda for me an’ when Lucinda’s in she does Joshua. It’s about as amusin’ as anythin’ you ever saw to see her do Lucinda. I never found Lucinda amusin’, Lord knows, but I like to see Granite do her. An’ we play cards, an’ she dances, an’—”
“Aunt Mary,” said Jack abruptly, “do you know the people who had Janice want her back again?”
“I didn’t quite catch that,” said his aunt, “but you needn’t bother to repeat it because I ain’t never goin’ to let her go. Not never.”
Jack came back and sat down beside the bed, and took her hand.
“Aunt Mary,” he said in a pleading shriek, “don’t you see how pale and thin she’s getting?”
“No, I don’t,” said his aunt, turning her head away, “an’ it’s no use tellin’ me such things because it’s about my nap-time and I’ve always been a great believer in takin’ my nap when it’s my nap-time. As a general thing.”
Jack sighed and watched her close her eyes and go instantly to sleep. Janice came in a few minutes later.
“No—no,” she whispered hastily, as he came toward her,—“you mustn’t—you mustn’t. I don’t believe that she really is asleep and even if she is, Lucinda is everywhere.”