It must be very lovely out in the garden, so she mused, dreamily; only it was such a long, long way to get there, and here it was so pleasantly restful, so calm, so conducive to dreams.
A great many birds had congregated on the big beech tree close to her windows; there was a swallow's nest just under the eaves of the roof, and a great twittering went on every now and then. Caroline could picture the cluster of yellow, wide-open beaks, and the industrious mother voyaging backwards and forwards, always with some toothsome morsel for one of those hungry mouths in her own beak.
"I think tiny swallows are very greedy," she said to herself, sleepily. "They are never satisfied."
And some one answered her—a small voice, from the floor, apparently.
"Caloline ... Caloline ... is you going to wake up.... Oh, do wake up, Caloline!"
The voice was plaintive almost to tears.
Caroline opened her eyes, paused, and then, with an effort, pushed herself forward, resting on her elbow.
"Is there somebody there?" she asked, in such a funny, wavering voice.
For answer a very hot and a very small hand came creeping over the white sheet like a little mouse.
"It's me ... Babsy.... They've sented me away all the time, nasty unkind peoples. But I crawled in, and I do want you, Caloline."