"Good-night, Noreen; thanks ever so."
Joey went to sleep at last, with an idea in her mind that some at least of the girls at Redlands were better than they seemed.
No one could think how a girl who had arrived perfectly well at four o'clock yesterday, could manage to develop such a frightful crying cold as Joey brought to breakfast next morning. Miss Lambton commented upon it; her neighbors at breakfast commented upon it with less concern and more candour; Matron commented upon it quite severely, while sticking a thermometer that tasted of carbolic into Joey's unwilling mouth, in the hall.
Noreen was hovering near.
"Please I expect that bed by the door has a draught or something," she suggested. "Shall I change with her? I don't mind really."
"Rubbish about a draught," Matron answered briskly. "There is just as much draught by a window. But you can change beds if you both like—only it's not to be a precedent."
Matron's urbanity was possibly due to the fact that Joey had been proved to have no temperature, and therefore could not be convicted of the heinous crime of sickening for measles, "flu," or chicken-pox.
"Keep a sports-coat on all day in the house, and you are not to stand about when the ground is wet, or stay out after four," she said, with authority. "You can run away now, but be careful. You must have done something really silly to get a cold like that."
"Come and change the beds," whispered Noreen, and the two ran up to Blue Dorm together.