"Climb up," said Caroline, faintly.
It was a stupendous undertaking, entailing much slipping and dragging at the bed-clothes, but at last a small, hot, dishevelled little person had crawled close to the pillow and was kissing the white face lying there and cuddling a weak hand and arm as if it were a doll.
And then confidences followed.
"Betty's dog has comed; he's a awful duck, but she won't let me have nothing of him. Isn't she selfish?"
"I will give you a dog, sweetheart."
"A really one?"
"A real one."
"Nice, dear Caloline!"
The little soft face pressed close to the white one.
"But not a wool-fur dog?"