"What are you doing down here?" demanded Frederik. "If you're so sick, you ought not to get out of bed. That's the place for sick boys."
"The circus!" mumbled Willem in the queer, strained voice of a sleep walker. "The circus music waked me up. So I had to come and hear it."
"Circus music?" repeated Frederik amazedly, as he watched the boy tugging at the rain-tightened window sash to force it upward.
"Yes, it woke me. I can see the parade if I can get this window open. It——"
"Why, you're half asleep!" exclaimed Frederik. "The circus left town ten days ago!"
"No, no!" insisted Willem, raising the window with one final wrench of his frail arms. "The band's playing now. Hear it?"
A gust of chilly, wet air dashed in through the open window, sending a sharp draught across the room and waking the boy wide as it beat into his hot face.
"Why," babbled Willem, rubbing his eyes, and staring about him, "why, it's night time! I wonder what made me think the circus was here. I—I guess it was a dream."
Frederik strode to the window impatiently and slammed it shut. As he passed Willem on the way back to the desk the boy intuitively cowered away from him.
"You've had a fever," said Frederik crossly, "and you're liable to catch cold, wandering around this draughty old barn in your night clothes. Go back to bed."