She sat by his bed and read stories to him; sometimes he listened, and sometimes he just kicked his legs about in bed and said: "Oh, do let me get up. I hate being in bed."
"You must be good, George dear," said Mother, "or else you will never get well."
It was no good. George wouldn't even listen to Nurse now, so it was not a bit of use talking.
He wouldn't take his medicine; he wouldn't lie quiet. He did everything he ought not to do. Even Alexander looked as if he would like to cry, and never once wagged his tail. This showed how sorry he felt for himself and for everybody else.
At last George was so tired that, as it was growing dark, he fell asleep. Nurse sat by the side of his bed with a large pair of spectacles on, knitting a pair of stockings.
As fast as she knitted stockings for George he wore them out, but she didn't seem to mind. What the boys do who haven't got nurses it is difficult to say. Think of all the stockings there must be in the world with holes in their heels and toes and knees! It was quite quiet. Nurse sat as still as still could be; if her fingers hadn't been moving all the time you would have thought she was fast asleep.
It grew darker and darker, until at last the moon came out from behind a cloud and shone through the window. It was just the kind of night on which the fairies love to be dancing in the wood. Perhaps they were.
"What a splendid sleep you've had, darling," said Mother, as she kissed George next morning.
George sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. "I've had such a dream!" he began.