Of course that bothering cold! Joey thanked Miss Lambton, and went indoors in very low spirits. Now that she had been reminded of her cold, she felt much worse at once. Her head and eyes were heavy; she didn't think she would ask for a book after all. She wandered up to Blue Dorm, and began to change very slowly, finally taking out a clean handkerchief from the drawer, and putting her handkerchief—her third that day—into her linen-bag.
Something deep-toned showed at the bottom of her bag, under the white of her own handkerchiefs; of course she still had the violet silk handkerchief which she had used to dust the Lab. Joey decided that it would be a very good thing to wash it, here and now, while she had the time. She plunged her arm into the linen-bag and drew it out. What a good thing she had needed another handkerchief, or it would probably have gone to the wash with her other things, and the Professor would have had to wait till the laundry returned it. Joey dashed into the bathroom with the violet handkerchief, turned on some moderately hot water, and began to scrub with vigour. She got the dirt off fairly well, to judge by the extraordinarily black condition of the bath; if she could only dry it, it might be possible to return it to the Lab this very evening. Joey didn't like to think of the Professor wanting his handkerchief and thinking of her as a thief as well as a most interfering schoolgirl.
But how was she to dry that handkerchief? Hung out over a chair in the Blue Dorm it would certainly take all night. The late September sun was near its setting; she couldn't dry it on the window ledge, that was quite certain. If only Gabrielle had been about, or even Noreen, she might perhaps have asked whether it was allowable to go down to the kitchens to find a fire. Already in the twenty-four hours she had spent at Redlands she had learnt there were several things not allowed which would have been the ordinary sort of thing to do at Calgarloch—and Father had always been particular about obedience. But both were playing hockey, and Joey was still cautious about the others. Probably she would be had on again, if she asked strangers.
She went down two flights of stairs, holding the wet handkerchief crumpled in her hand, and wondering what she had better do. Then she saw a door open, and heard a babel of small voices coming from behind it, and—surprising sight, a glow of firelight. She pushed the door open a very little farther, and peeped in.
About twelve or fourteen very small girls, their ages ranging from six or seven to nine, were sitting in a huge half-circle round a bright fire. They were all talking hard, regardless of a pleasant-looking maid who was laying tea—a very nice tea, with plenty of bread and jam, and a plate of round, shiny-topped buns.
They all stopped chattering though, when they caught sight of Joey, and stared at her solemnly in absolute silence. Still, she couldn't be uncomfortable with people of that age, even if they hadn't reminded her so much of Kirsty and Bingo.
"Do you mind if I come in and dry something by your fire?" she asked.
The children received the request most graciously, scrambling aside to make room for her in the middle of the circle, and helping her to hang the handkerchief over the high nursery fender.
"Is it your hankserchiff?" asked a small, solemn voice, while she was spreading it out; and she turned round to meet the grave, dark eyes of the very tiniest child she had ever seen at school. She was about half Bingo's size, but she spoke quite distinctly, except for the mispronunciation of the word handkerchief. Her black hair was cut square over her forehead and bobbed; her small, round face had very little colour, and except for the amount of expression in it and the fact that she was talking, Joey could almost have taken her for a French doll.