“I fink I could go to sleep better if I had my bunny.”
“Yes, dear,” said the man patiently; “where is he?”
“I fink he’s under ve chair where my clothes are—ve big chair. ’Stashie lets me put my clothes on ve biggest chair.”
The man fumbled about in the dark. Then, “Here’s your bunny, Ariadne.”
The child murmured something drowsily unintelligible. The man took his seat again by the bed. There was a pause. The child’s breathing grew long and regular. The rain sounded loud in the silence.
In the distance a street-car rattled noisily by. Ariadne started up with a scream: “Favver! Favver!”
“Right here, dear. Just the trolley-car.”
“It ’minded me of ve mad ladies’ voices,” explained Ariadne apologetically, breathing quickly. She added: “Vat was such a nawful dream, Favver. I wonder could I have your watch to hear tick in my hand to go me to sleep.”
“Yes, dear; but only for to-night because of the bad dream.”
There were little nestling noises, gradually quieting down. Then, sleepily: