This was a crumb of comfort, and Marjorie drew the baby's cool cheek against her own hot one.
The child scrambled up on the bed, beside her sister, and petted her gently, saying:
"Don't ky, Middy; 'top kyin'."
"Oh, Rosy Posy, I'm so miserable! where is Mother?"
"Muvver dawn yidin'. Wosy take care of 'oo. Want Nannie?"
"No, I don't want Nannie. You stay here, little sister, till Mother comes."
"Ess. Wosy 'tay wiv Middy. Dear Middy."
The loving baby cuddled up to her sister, and smoothed back the tangled curls with her soft little hand, until exhausted Marjorie, quite worn out with her turbulent storm of tears, fell asleep.
And here Mrs. Maynard found them, as, coming in soon, she went in search of her eldest daughter.
"Why, Baby," she said; "what's the matter? Is Marjorie sick?"