"Get back to bed, dear, and I'll bring you some milk."
I went into the pantry and found what was apparently the "breakfast milk," warmed it a little, and took it up to Molly.
She was in bed again, but the jumbled state of the clothes told of a very restless night. Although it was so bitterly cold, the eiderdown was on the floor, and the counterpane half off the bed, and Molly herself only partly covered.
I handed her the milk and straightened the bed a little, while she sat up and swallowed the liquid greedily.
"You're very flushed and feverish," I said, sitting down by her side and feeling her hot little forehead and cheeks with the back of my hand. "Do you think you've caught cold, Molly?"
"I don't know, Daddy. . . . But it is hot!"
She searched with her feet for cold spots under the bedclothes.
"You mustn't toss the eiderdown off," I said. "Can't you get to sleep, dear?"
"No-o-o! . . ." she murmured, restlessly.
I placed a cool hand on her forehead again.