It was the overlively talking that made Jane certain that Gwendolyn was ill. She leaned to feel of the busy hands, the throbbing forehead. Then she hastily telephoned Thomas.
"Have we any more of that quietin' medicine?" she asked as he opened the door.
"It's all gone. Why?"
The two forgot their differences, and bent over Gwendolyn.
She smiled up, and nodded. "All the clouds in the sky are filled with wind," she declared; "like automobile tires. Toy-balloons are, I know. Once I put a pin in one, and the wind blew right out. I s'pose the clouds in the South hold the south wind, and the clouds in the North hold the north wind, and the clouds—"
"Jane," said Thomas, "we've got to have a doctor."
Gwendolyn heard. She saw Jane spring to the telephone. The next instant, with a piercing scream that sent her canary fluttering to the top of its cage, she flung herself sidewise.
"Jane! Oh, don't! Jane! He'll kill me! Jane!"
Jane fell back, and caught Gwendolyn in her arms. The little figure was all a-tremble, both small hands were beating the air in wild protest.
"Jane! Oh, I'll be good! I'll be good!" She hid her face against the nurse, shuddering.