"Well," greeted Mrs. Crane, "this is something like! Awake, are you? Don't be frightened, poor lamb—you're as safe here as if you were in your own bed. Open your mouth, there's a good boy. It's some time since you've had a Christian meal."
After the first few spoonfuls, the boy's eyes closed wearily; but he still opened his mouth obediently, just like a young robin, his pleased nurse said afterwards.
"That's all," announced Mrs. Crane, giving him the last spoonful. "Now go to sleep if you want to."
Apparently he did want to, for that is what he did. Mrs. Crane stole softly from the tent.
"Girls," said she, to the little group in the shade of the biggest tree, "I want you to be very quiet whenever you come near the tents—tell the others when they come back. I believe that boy has taken a change for the better—he's lost his fever and he's sleeping like a baby."
"Was it Dave's awful medicine?" queried Bettie.
"I don't know," returned Mrs. Crane. "Your bottle probably helped. I don't suppose we'll ever know just what effect Dave's potion had; but something has certainly brought about a change in that poor child. Anyway, remember not to make a noise near my tent."
"My!" giggled Marjory, when Mrs. Crane had returned to her charge, "she never even looked toward the beach. I was so afraid she'd notice the smoke from that fire and ask what Jean and Mabel were doing."
"So was I," said Henrietta, who was endeavoring to weave a basket from some long, fragrant grass that she had discovered in a marsh near the river, "but she doesn't think of anything but that boy."
"What's Mr. Black doing all this time?" asked Bettie, who was lying at full length on the ground with her head in Marjory's lap.